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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23542591">We Will Always Find Each Other</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MavenfreakingCalore/pseuds/MavenfreakingCalore'>MavenfreakingCalore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Caring, Drama &amp; Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Male Character, Getting Back Together, Glass Sword, Jealousy, M/M, Maven Needs A Hug, Maven POV, Maven is a mess, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, POV First Person, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Prison, Romance, Solitary Confinement, War Storm, ahhh, maven gets a hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:53:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23542591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MavenfreakingCalore/pseuds/MavenfreakingCalore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in prison. That was the sentence. Life on a completely horrid island with completely horrible people, surrounded by water, and no way out. Maven has come to terms with this, and is living his life the best he can. Now, he is struggling without the aid from his mother and is sinking further and further into the depths of his head. He sees no way to save himself, until a face from his past, from very long ago, suddenly reappears. Can he be saved?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Diana Farley/Shade Barrow, Mare Barrow/Tiberias "Cal" Calore VII, Maven Calore/Thomas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Rotting Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>         My cell smells of old rust and poor hygiene, both collected over time. Its walls, brick of course, are painted in a sickly white color, chipping in most places, and turned almost yellow from wear. I breathe the familiar scents in, tasting the everlasting relish of dust. This place isn’t old to me, not yet at least. I've only been here for half a year. Which isn't even a chip in my sentence.<br/>Life. I can't say I don't deserve it, because I do, I definitely do. I deserve death, more than death and I know that. But that doesn’t matter, I’m not the one who decided to send me here. I have, or should I say had, absolutely no control. Although, everything is starting to become familiar. I've decided to stop wasting my days scheming a way out, there probably will never be one I've realized, and find better things to do.</p>
<p>My agenda roughly includes doing nothing, and a tad of nought. There may be no silent stone in this place but that doesn't make it easier. Out of everything I lost, sadly, that's the one thing I long the most for. It’s the only thing that could truly make this place less of a headache, literally. There’s no need for it here. I don’t have my flamemakers. Without them I'm powerless, just like the rest of the prisoners inhabiting this cold rock of an island. Tuck is what they call it. Previously it was uninhabited, just a war ground and burial site. Now they’ve turned it into a prison. There’s no way off either. The guards are too careful, the brick too solid, the water too dangerous. What a perfect place for me.</p>
<p><br/>Most of the people here are convicted of war crimes, myself included, but there's also a mix of lords and ladies who refused to concede to Cal. Or should I say <em>King Tiberias</em>. That wasn’t much of a shocker. I can only imagine how he's doing. He got married to Mare. The wedding was broadcasted across every screen in Norta, even in this place. It’s like they wanted me to see how happy they were, how successful their rebellion was. It didn’t bother me though, I knew that he’d find a way to do it, marry a red, make her his red queen. At least one of us pulled it off. Now we wait. They’ll be happy, have a few kids, and live a peaceful life together. That's what he's always wanted. I can still remember him telling me about his plans for the future. He wanted kids, a girl. I’d thought of my future before. It never seemed too unrealistic. I wanted to live away from the palaces, to have a wife, maybe a husband that nobody knew about. I wanted to wake up in the morning next to someone I loved, and they would love me too. They would’ve loved me the way no one else ever had. We’d live a boring, uneventful life together. And somehow, that would be enough. But nobody could know that. I’ve worked too hard to create the person I am. The cold exterior people used to fear, people used to <em>envy</em>. I couldn’t even show Cal that part of me. I’d always laugh when he told me his plans. I would play the part I'd been taught to.</p>
<p>
  <em>Laugh. Tell him he’s crazy. Tell him you can’t wait to see it.</em>
</p>
<p><br/>Always playing a character. Always pretending to be someone I wasn’t. You’d think that with all my pretending I’d know how to be real, genuine. To care. That’s always been my weak point though, that's why I’m here. I couldn’t show Cal I was the same Maven. I mean, I'm not, I never was, but I thought myself to be a good actor over the years. I thought that in the end I could trick him, make him let me go free. It’s her fault I didn’t succeed.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <em>You brought this on yourself.</em>
</p>
<p><br/>My mother is never far, without the silent stone she chimes in my thoughts. Always defending herself and her actions. It’s starting to quite piss me off. But she’s always been like this. Unable to take responsibility, unable to tell the truth. I can’t blame her though. I’m almost the same. Although, as of late, her voice has started to diminish. And I feel myself falling with her. I don’t know if I can function without her thoughts guiding me, like lanterns in the deep night, showing the right path. Without her I feel stuck in the dark, constantly trying to feel around me, finding somewhere to balance. Always unsuccessful. There is no wall to fall back on when you are stuck in an abyss. I fear the dark might soon close in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bright lights flash above me, waking me from a dreamless slumber. I have to shield my eyes as they open, stopping the white flashes from temporarily blinding me.<br/>  “We’re up! Stop flashing those damn things!” Someone yells down the hall. I hear a few snickers from the cells next to me.</p>
<p>Chuckling myself, I slowly creep out from under the wool blanket covering me. My body shivers as the morning air meets it, causing small goosebumps to run down my spine. The lights eventually cease from flashing, but the brightness is still there. Over these past few months I’ve gotten used to waking up like this, but that doesn’t mean it's easy. When I was still posing as the ‘rightful’ king, I’d sleep until noon, not bothering to form any type of schedule. That was my mother's forte. After she died I found no use in keeping up with them. Sleeping was always a better use of my time. For me it was like passing out. I’d fall and dream of nothing, see nothing, my brain an empty abyss that I would gladly fall into. I miss that. Now I’m forced to wake up at the ungodly hour of 7 o’clock.<br/>  My spine straightens as a guard appears to open my cell door. It’s hinges squeak as it slides, making me scrunch my nose. He grabs my arm roughly and yanks me out, not caring if I hit my head on the bars and bleed out. I’ve never been harmed badly here, but I'm sure if I was on the brink of death, they'd do next to nothing and report it as an accident. I kind of wish that would happen.<br/> “Good morning to you too,” I state, curling my lip into a smirk. The guard doesn’t respond well, only gripping my arm tighter. They aren’t a lively bunch, using actions more than words. But I can work with anything I get.<br/>As we walk I take closer inspection of the man. I’ve never seen him before but he holds some type of familiarity. He might be new, but it seems almost stupid to give him a prisoner like me on his first day. He could've had duty outside, but he isn't too large, and he doesn’t hold the same composure like all of the other outside men.  “Where did you come from, the gutter.” He still gives no indication of annoyance, further making me upset. I yank back on my arm, leaning my body backwards therefore halting our movement. He reacts quickly, maneuvering behind me and pinning both my arms behind my back. So he’s properly trained to be a guard. But he still holds some type of mystery, making me feel like I should be suspicious of him.  </p>
<p>“Being difficult today, I see,” he chuckles in my ear. I flinch away from him.  </p>
<p>“Just trying to give you some form of entertainment,” I laugh forcibly and pull on my arms. He doesn’t loosen his grip but pushes me next to him again, this time walking a little behind, as to watch my movement.</p>
<p>“I don’t need your entertainment, that's what televisions are for.” I snarl at his response, choosing to stay quiet this time. I’ve gotten way better reactions before, this guys a dud. I’ll have to hope someone better comes later.<br/>  We both turn down the hallway into the cafeteria. The guards' eyes don’t leave me as I move to get my breakfast, or what they call breakfast. Today’s is a sad excuse for eggs and bacon. Everything is always soggy and dry. When I take my seat at a table in the corner, the guard follows me. He stands diagonal to my chair and watches with disdain as I slide the tray away from me. I scoff at his expression, earning a scowl from him.</p>
<p>“Do you need something?” I ask, sounding more like a brat than I intended.</p>
<p>“Eat.” He responds, moving to push the tray closer to me. His form changes as he does this. He seems almost gentle, further increasing my distrust of him.</p>
<p>“Normally, the guards stand over there,“ I say, pointing to the doors of the large room. Already a crowd has begun to form. He looks over at them, his eyes moving between them all. Then, slowly, he starts to shake his head. I internally let out my disappointment.</p>
<p>“I’ve been assigned to you, Mr. Calore,” he states, almost smiling at my bewilderment.</p>
<p>“Assigned?” I question, pushing the tray back where I had it. He laughs out loud this time and moves to sit across from me.</p>
<p>“Assigned.”</p>
<p> <em>Mr</em>. He addressed me better than anyone has in a long time. Most people here call me by my last name, Calore. Or they call me nothing at all, using force instead of words when they meet with me. It only confuses me more. He has training, yes, but he lacks the gruff exterior of what a normal ‘newbie’ is like. He still sits across from me, watching as I try and scarf down a tiny piece of bacon. It tastes like a dog treat, making me want to spit it out as soon as I bite into it. I can feel his eyes, searching my face. His features turn, making him look puzzled. His eyebrows furrowed above his eyes and his head turned slightly. This guy is horrid at hiding his emotions.</p>
<p>That’s what he wants you to think.</p>
<p>My head jerks back to look behind me. There’s obviously nobody there, only a boring brick wall and barred windows. I know it was my mother’s voice but it was different. It seemed so much more <em>real</em>. Like someone had leaned in and whispered in my ear. I could almost feel their breath rustle my hair. My eyes continue searching the walls, looking in every corner, every inch of the floor. But I come up with nothing. The voice ceases to be there, only the loud bustle of everyone else in the room remains. Everyone else in this prison sits as far away from me as possible, due to previous situations. I slowly turn back around, trying to catch any movement. But again, nothing. When I face back forwards I am greeted with a concerned face.<br/>“Are you good?” The guard asks, looking me up and down, like there could be any physical injury. I continue staring in his eyes, finding nothing to say. “I uh, thought I heard something.” He obviously isn’t convinced, continuing to search me for any other harm. “I’m fine, it happens more than you’d think,” I say, trying to reassure him, although I don't know why. He wipes the look he’s been giving me off his face and smiles. “Okay then, let’s get you back to your room.”<br/>“What?” I stare at him like he’s insulted me. “My room?” I find myself being ignored and roll my eyes in his direction. He takes no notice of it though, and grabs my arm, pulling me behind him as he dumps my tray into the trash. “Wait,” I say, slightly panicking, “Breakfast isn’t even over.” He takes no notice of my comment and heaves me forward, to the point that I'm almost stepping on his feet. “You’re done eating.” He clearly states. I follow him out the door, seeing no point in trying to stop us again. “Later, I can take you to the lounge, so you can get out of your room for a while.” I let out a loud breath, glaring at him. “It. Is. Not. My. Room,” I say, becoming angrier every second. Why would someone need to be assigned to me? Who could have possibly done this?</p>
<p>“I’m sorry if I upset you, I was just trying to make it seem better,” He says, not even looking into my eyes. It doesn’t even sound like an apology. Did I make him mad? I’m not angry, per se, but he clearly knows nothing about this place. I’m the one that should be upset, not him. Suddenly his presence is too much, I can’t stand his tight grip on my arm. Lucky for me, we’re closer to my cell. The thin mattress on the cement slab looks more comforting than ever. He pushes the password into the keypad and slides the door open. One of his hands gently pushes my back forward and I happily oblige, practically giddy to be rid of this man. Once the door is closed he takes a step back and looks in my eyes. “I never told you my name did I?” I shake my head. He looks at me, through the sad cell bars and a smile washes over his face.</p>
<p>“Thomas”</p>
<p>I feel the taste of bile in my throat.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Lounging Around</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cold floor is the only thing that grounds me at this moment. My legs feel like they’re about to give up, and I’m ready to let them. How could I not have known? The open way he talks to me, the way I talk back. The sense of familiarity he gave me. I should've known it was him. I should've recognized his voice or his hair or his eyes. His <em> eyes. </em> How could I have been so <em> blind?  </em></p><p> </p><p>Thomas didn’t bother staying to see me break down. He left as soon as he told me it was him. Finally, alone from watchful eyes I fall. I laid in my bed and felt tears falling down my cheeks. </p><p>I didn’t realize I had cried myself to sleep until I was awoken to a fight breaking out down the hall. The yelling stopped almost immediately. Fights aren't encouraged here. The punishment for them is probably worse than whatever caused the fight. I almost feel bad for the two guys that were just broken up and whatever penalty they’ll have to deal with. I sit up in bed, staring out of the cell door. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. We don’t have clocks down these hallways. Even I can’t think of a possible reason for that. But my mouth has a bad taste, and my face feels greasier than before, so I’m guessing over an hour. </p><p>My back cracks as I stretch my arms above my head, causing me to sigh in relief. Shortly after I’d arrived here I started to have back problems. Whether it was just pressure on my lower spine or even sharp pains pulsing in my shoulders, it hurts like <em> hell. </em> I’ve requested to see a healer over this, but to no avail. And this mattress does next to nothing to help either. </p><p>I give up on even standing and fall back onto the bed, closing my eyes as a headache spreads across my temple. Of course, I knew that would happen. </p><p><em> Thomas</em>.</p><p>Again the voice is sharper than normal, almost like a presence in the room. I thought her voice fading, finally leaving me to go insane. I was wrong. Before, back to when I had some type of freedom, the thought of the boy I once loved would send a pain so powerful through my head that I thought I would pass out. </p><p>It’s not the same anymore.</p><p>I know it means something. It has to. Maybe I'm finally losing what was left of my mother. Maybe this place has caused her to disappear. Either she doesn’t want to be here or my head has lost the inspiration or the <em> will </em> to make her up. </p><p>It’s not like I didn't do my research. Of course, I knew what I had experienced. But that was it. Every book I’d spend my hours alone tearing through would give me nothing. If anything most of them were wrong. I looked for people too. And I did find some. They’re locked up in places far worse than this one, and they're not called prisoners. </p><p>
  <em> Patients.  </em>
</p><p>The word strikes an unfamiliar shudder to run through me.  Every so called doctor I talked to repeated the same word. </p><p>
  <em> Insanity. </em>
</p><p>That was the summary of them. The people who were tortured by whispers, either through relations or war, were <em> clinically insane. </em> They told me that without the whisper who originally controlled them, they couldn't function anymore. Apparently their <em> will </em> to live was gone. Even when I saw them, when I looked into rooms, they didn't seem insane. They all looked normal. </p><p>When I asked what the effects were he had said, “There really are no effects, they just can’t handle the outside world.” I wanted to scream. I knew I was different. But I wasn’t sure if that was  a good or bad thing. I was definitely worse. Which is why part of me, almost all of me, wanted Cal to execute me. Obviously he never could. He’s never had the guts for that. He probably would’ve seen too much of our father in it. Which is understandable. I’m still pierced with that image. I’m sure Cal is too. Although mine comes during the day, not at night. Sometimes I’ll be sitting, alone mostly, and something will trigger it. Maybe someone yelling down the hallway, or a broadcast with nobles, draped in fancy armor, swords hanging at their waists. I see a lot of my past. Some of it’s happy. Cal and I used to play games in the gardens together. We’d hide in the bushes and wait until a sentinel walked past, looking for us. Scaring them always resulted in getting yelled at. Those daydreams sometimes warp into that. Our father, at his desk, telling us that isn’t acceptable behavior. Us standing in front of him looking guilty. Him telling us that if we were to grow up and be formidable, we’d have to start acting like it. It always felt like he was directing those statements more towards me. But I never listened, choosing to ignore his words. But I know Cal did. He looked up to our father more than anyone else. Such a pity he had to be the one that killed him. I do feel somewhat sorry about that. I never <em> hated </em> my father, we just didn’t see eye to eye. We had moments. Even though I can no longer feel the love that I held for him, I know it was there. That is always what will hurt me the most. </p><p> </p><p>Apparently he does keep his word. Just as promised, Thomas is standing, rather confidently, outside my cell after lunch. I find it hard to even look him in the eyes. All my guilt floods my heart. I really thought I killed him, and here he stands. </p><p>“Almost, ready?” He asks, smiling a bit. I’m not impressed. How can he joke so easy? Shouldn’t this be serious? I don my typical stance, straight spine, raised head, straight face. The look of someone who knows what they're doing. Thank my colors I'm a good actor.</p><p> </p><p>The lounge room isn’t anything fancy. It looks like any other room, brick walls, barred windows, and guards at every entrance. I can’t say I'm too fond of this place. I’ve only ever been here once, it was directly after I had arrived. I was brought here from my cell, still getting used to the uncomfortable starch of the orange jumpsuit, and was met by the Warden. She gave me the creeps, and still does, even today. The meeting wasn’t anything formal. She just wanted to remind me of what this <em> institution </em> was and what would happen if I showed any bad <em> behavior. </em>I rolled my eyes then and I roll my eyes now. Stupid reds. They wouldn’t understand silver powers if it killed their families and ripped the clothes off their back. My behavior wouldn’t be the problem if I got my hands on anything flammable. And of course, fire.</p><p>Still, I don’t like it here. The decor is bland and unattractive, nothing like I'm used to. Or, was used to. Everything reminds me of what I could've had. The exact opposite of this. Lavish and highly over decorated parlors, regal ballrooms, dripping with gold and luxurious diamonds. Even my bedroom, empty as it was, held more ornate things than this room. But I guess that’s something I'll never see again. </p><p>Thomas stands awkwardly next to me, taking the room in for himself. I can tell this isn’t what he was expecting. </p><p>“Government funding,” I say as I walk over to one of the many empty tables. He chuckles behind me and follows. </p><p>“So, what games do they have in this lovely establishment?” Thomas chuckles, pulling a chair out from in front of me. I can almost imagine this as a different situation. This <em> feels </em> like it could be something else. If I had never succumbed to my mother’s meddling. If I had never believed he was dead. If this world was something better. If people wouldn’t judge a person based on their blood color. We could have been together, having tea in a cafe on the corner of a bustling street. Getting married. I could actually see myself with him, picture a future. Nothing like with Mare. Although I never pictured myself having a future with Mare. Yes, when we were <em> together </em>I had made plans in my head. But they weren’t anything special. Our wedding. That was mostly it. At that time I barely had enough time alone in my head to conjure up such ideas. That’s changed, significantly.</p><p>I watch as Thomas grabs a random board game off a stack on a table. I hadn’t noticed he left, due to my daydreaming. He walks back over and throws it down on the table. </p><p>“You kind of slipped off there,” he comments. I can feel my face flush with embarrassment. I hadn’t realized he noticed. </p><p>“I was just thinking,” I blandly state, looking anywhere but his face.  I feel vulnerable. He’s not making this any easier. He busies himself with setting up the board. It seems he’s chosen Monopoly. It's a long game, we definitely won’t get through it today. </p><p>“About?”</p><p>I curse internally. There was no way I was going to share my thoughts with him. I would end up digging a hole I could never jump out of. Thomas looks up at me, raising his eyebrows with suspicion. I meet his gaze and shake my head.</p><p>“I’d rather not share.”</p><p>The conversation ends there and we begin playing. There isn’t much talking involved. The mood is awkward at the least. He makes the most noise, cursing when he lands on my places, or is forced to pay a fine. Quickly I gain the advantage, buying Boardwalk and Park Place before he can pass go twice. The mood lightens when I land on “go to jail.” We both chuckle a bit. Our eyes reach each other and the laughing abruptly stops.</p><p>“What happened,” He asks, looking sad. I’m taken aback, but I can’t pretend I didn’t see this coming. </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>I’m torn between telling him everything I’ve been through and staying silent. It’s been branded in my mind to be careful who you trust. Thomas is no exception. I may still have feelings for him and maybe even enjoy his company, but that doesn’t mean he’s not able to hurt me. There are things I’ve done that nobody knows about. And I’m not ready to start sharing them now. I still don’t know why he’s <em> assigned </em> to me or even who made that decision. The straight fact is, I can’t trust him. I may never be able to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! It would really help me if you'd comment what you'd like the see next, i'm always open for suggestions. I hope you enjoyed!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Here Comes the Savior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! It's star wars day, so I thought I would upload a little earlier than usual as a celebration. This is the chapter in Thomas' Pov,  it switches near the end back to Maven. Hope you enjoy and may the force be with you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He stares at me completely bewildered. I don’t know if he’ll talk, and I'm honestly not expecting him too. The look in his eyes is enough to give someone chills, but not me. I know that’s not who he is. He’s acting for me, putting up a wall to cower behind. I’ve been told he’s hard to crack open. It supposedly requires a lot of poking and prodding. That was never my intention coming here, though. I was shocked when I found out he was still alive. Every day assumed that after Harbor Bay he was dead. Although, there was no official broadcast stating so. We all guessed the king was mourning. And when the Mare was abruptly crowned, the war was expected to be over. It was reasonable to presume the ‘Boy King’ had perished. The news broke after the royal wedding, during dinner. I was working in the kitchens in the palace. Life was becoming easier, I was being paid. I was happy. This prison was done being built, and rumors spread quickly amongst family members of guards. You’d think they’d be sworn to secrecy or something like that. But no, and the king and queen were forced to reveal Maven was alive. Though I had only known him a brief time, Maven and I’s relationship was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I loved him. Even when he was parading around as king, I thought I could change him, help him become a better person. Help him <em> get </em> better. So, when I found out he was alive, I acted quickly. Somehow I convinced a silver adviser, I believe it was Ptolemus Samos, to help me get a meeting with the king. I told him it was about food shortages coming from Montfort. And it worked. He met with me a week after that, alone, and that’s when I told him who I was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That day is still very clear in my memory. He was sitting at his desk when I walked in, staring intensely at a stack of papers. Not bothering to look up at the person entering the room. I closed the door roughly, as to make him notice me. It worked. In my presence, his back straightened and he forced a smile on his face. A smile I could see right through.  </p>
<p>“Come on in. Take a seat.” He greeted me like an old friend. I slowly sat down in one of the chairs he was gesturing to. They were parallel to the desk he was at, all of it extremely lavish and overdone. </p>
<p>“How may I help you, Mr?”</p>
<p>“Just call me Thomas,” I interrupted. I could see a flicker of memory in his eyes. Maybe Maven had told him about me. If he had this would be way easier than planned. The flicker was too soon gone and replaced with a warm look.</p>
<p>“Thomas. Food shortages, huh?” By this time I was sitting comfortably in the chair, my hands clasped in my lap. I smiled back.</p>
<p>“Yes, your majesty.”</p>
<p>“Please, call me Cal.” He was already so trusting of me. So unlike his brother.</p>
<p>“Okay, Cal.” He sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, a sign for me to tell him about the so-called ‘food shortages.’ I had thought about how to approach him before I came here. I didn’t want to startle him, for that could end badly, but I needed to tell him the truth. I decided a little backstory would help. I could get information out without him being suspicious. He would think I was an awestruck red, telling my story to someone I thought would care.</p>
<p>“I grew up in a red slum, not the stilts, but a little further back. My mother was a fine cook. She enjoyed the look on people’s faces when they tasted her food. I can still see her smile. My father, on the other hand, was mean. The years of poverty had changed him as a person. We were still close, but not like I was with my mother.” The king still continued smiling at me. The plan worked. “I had only one sister. She was almost like my best friend. When I turned 14, my father got in trouble with the law. He was conspiring with the Scarlet Guard. The local guardsmen fled, leaving him and the rest of my family to their fate. It was trying times. They sent a letter to your father,” I point at him, trying to make him feel guilty, “He sentenced my parents to death. And, with no family, my sister and I were forced to join the war. We were split up for training, and I never saw her again.” Cal’s face falters, turning sad. I relish in it. I hold no malevolence for him, he’s not the one who did it, but I do enjoy seeing silvers stall, having no words to say. I continue. “This may seem startling, but while I was there, I met someone.” There was no falter in his expression this time, and he gestured for me to continue. “I think you can guess this isn’t about food anymore.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but I won't be blackmailed. My father did things I'm not proud of, but that doesn’t make me afraid of people knowing.” He’s valiant, bold. Another thing to compare to his brother.</p>
<p>“That’s not something I would do. I’m here because,” I pause, thinking for the right way to say it, “I met someone during the war.” I can almost feel the expression on my own face. It’s sad. I’m remembering who I knew.</p>
<p>“Go on, tell me.” The way he says it is so comforting<em>. </em> He really is <em> nothing </em>like his brother. </p>
<p>“As you know, my name is Thomas. I knew Maven.”</p>
<p>He looked at me with a frown, “Wh-”</p>
<p>“I haven’t spoken to him in a long time, we were … friends” <em> I didn’t know how much he knew, </em>“The point is, I think I could help him.”</p>
<p>He looked at me in utter horror.</p>
<p>“Don’t come in here and start lying about my brother.”</p>
<p>“Wait, i’m not lying!”</p>
<p>Thomas is - the <em> real </em> Thomas - is dead!” The room filled with heat and I could feel sweat forming on my brow.</p>
<p>
  <em> Okay then, I guess I hit a tough spot.  </em>
</p>
<p>“I <em> am </em>the real Thomas, I promise you.”</p>
<p>“Get out.” His fists erupted in flame and I felt my stomach drop.</p>
<p>
  <em> He won’t actually hurt me, that’d look bad. </em>
</p>
<p>I stood up, again surrendering with my hands. The king followed my movements. He motioned towards the door with his arm. I made one movement sideways, showing obedience but also resistance. He was furious with me, that much was clear.</p>
<p>  “Please just listen-”</p>
<p>“Guards!”</p>
<p>As if on cue, two sentinels rushed in and seized me by the shoulders. They started dragging me toward the doors. </p>
<p>“His favorite color’s purple!” I yelled, turning to face the king, “He hates alcohol, he loves theater.” Tiberias continued glaring. I would need to say a lot more. “He loves reading, any kind of reading,” we were getting closer to the door, “his favorite food is a grilled cheese sandwich!” I continue thrashing against the guards, but they don’t budge.</p>
<p>“Stop.”</p>
<p>The guards immediately let go of me and I scurried away from them as fast as I could. “He liked playing chess with you.” My words fell on deaf ears. </p>
<p>“Leave us.” Once they were gone he spoke again. </p>
<p>“You’re not lying.”</p>
<p>...ᘯ...  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thomas was still staring at me, expecting an answer. His hands have been folded on the table, fingers lightly drumming on the polished wood.</p>
<p>“What about you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“This isn’t about me.” He shuts me down immediately. I'm somewhat shocked by this. The Thomas I knew was nothing like that. He always answered my questions first, then, when I was done interrogating him he’d ask me things. That was how our conversations always worked. It’s almost upsetting that he would forget that tradition.</p>
<p>
  <em> He was trying to gain your trust. </em>
</p>
<p>I can’t say her claim doesn’t make sense. “I thought you were dead. I thought I had killed you. You can’t come here and tell me this isn’t about you. You were alive and didn’t bother to somehow communicate that fact to me! <em>You</em> were the reason <em>I</em> became the person I am.”</p>
<p>His hands turn into fists. I like that I've angered him, so I continue.</p>
<p>“This <em> is </em> about you,” I point at him, “and I'm not telling you anything more.” I slump back into my chair and cross my arms over my chest. He looks annoyed with me. </p>
<p>“You can’t hide in your head for the rest of your life.” </p>
<p>His comment stings, it goes straight through me. This Thomas is nothing like the one I knew. </p>
<p>“Yes I can,” I respond like a child, “And lucky for me I have plenty of time to do so.” The remainder of my sentence makes it harder to hold a blank face, but, unlucky for Thomas, he isn’t as skilled. A frown forms and he stares at me with pity.</p>
<p>
  <em> You don’t need his pity. </em>
</p>
<p>“I know that,” I snap back at her, turning my face to the side. When I look back up at my former lover, his eyes are still boring through me, and I find it hard not to look away. I don’t.</p>
<p>“Listen,” he starts, putting his hand back up on the table, “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I just wanted some closure. I wanted to see with my own two eyes the person you’ve become.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean the person I've <em> become?” </em>His face turns sadder and I can feel mine, following suit.</p>
<p>“You’re not the same Mave, Cal told me so, <em> Mare </em> told me so. I just wanted to believe we weren’t over. I did love you, I still do. But I can’t accept this.” He sloppily gestures towards me. I take in his words. <em> Cal. Mare. </em>He met them, he talked to them. And they’re the reason he’s here. </p>
<p>“Did Cal ‘assign’ you?” I need to know. More than anything. If Cal or Mare had any contact that’d mean those stupid scarlet rats would too. I know it. It would mean I couldn’t trust him, not in the way I wanted to. Not the way we were when he was just a poor red in the choke and I was myself. It’d make him completely unattainable. The look he gives from across the table gives me my answer. I can feel my heart rate become faster by the second. This whole thing was planned. He’s not here for me, he’s here for those stupid reds. He’s here to gain insight to report back to Cal. I muster up a glare I know he wouldn’t expect, but it soon disappears. I’m filled with unwanted sadness.</p>
<p>“I thought I could trust you,” I finally mutter.</p>
<p>“Maven, you <em> can</em>. I'm not going to tell anybody anything that just happened, just please <em> trust me.” </em>He’s pleading with me now, his eyes are closer to mine as he leans on the table. “Please Maven.”</p>
<p>I continue staring straight into his eyes, wishing for someone to come save me from this moment. My head's pounding from the constant whispers of my mother. She’s telling me not to trust him, to hit him, to run away, and then she’s calling me a coward, a disgrace to all she did for me, nothing like my older brother. Meanwhile, Thomas is begging for me to say something but I can’t find it in me. For once in my life, I have no idea what to say. The boy I love, the boy I believe could pull me out of my abyss is here. And I have no words for him. </p>
<p>I decide my only option is to look away. </p>
<p>“Can you take me back to my cell … please.” Thankfully he listens.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The headaches erupt through my skull as I enter the small room. Thomas had insisted he take me back and, though I had no choice, I was against it. I could feel the pain coming on before we even left the lounge and it took every fiber in my body to hide it. I didn’t care anymore about what guards thought of me, they make their own opinions anyway. But it was the thought of Thomas seeing me fall back on my bed, almost in the tears from the pain that scared me. I know he knows I'm fucked up, but I won’t let him see me like that. I can’t. </p>
<p>He traces his hand over the keypad before diligently pressing in the code. I watch, it's not like I don’t know the numbers by heart already. I used to think that would help me escape, but the door is impenetrable glass, reinforced with steel bars on the sides. Impossible to stick my hand through. </p>
<p>“I know you may hate me right now, but … I'm glad we had that talk,” he says as the door slides open. This time, I don’t need him to guide me in. I'm ready for him to leave me alone.</p>
<p>“Are you going to say anything?”</p>
<p>It's harder to hear him when the door is closed. The cell isn’t completely soundproof but enough so I can’t hear what’s happening two halls down. It’s a bit pointless. Thomas is staring at me with the same pleading look from earlier. He’s practically begging me to give him something. </p>
<p>“I don’t know what to say.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Bullies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maven gets bullied!!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Thomas is nowhere. He doesn’t come to get me in the morning, or to take me to breakfast and lunch. I get served dinner in my room, which isn’t rare to happen. But when it does, it’s when i’ve done something to make somebody mad. It’s like their subdued punishment. I don’t mind eating the slop alone, but it’s better if nobody knows that. It gives me time to go through my many thoughts. But today, I'm empty. I’ve always distracted myself with thought. It’s my way to cope with my issues, to think about things that don’t matter, which is unusual considering my mind hasn’t always been mine. I like to debate in my head. It reminds me of when I’d sit in financial meetings with my father, training to be an advisor. Father never allowed me to actually debate, only share my thoughts. I couldn’t argue with what someone else said, only add my opinion. It still makes me angry to think about. There were plenty of times when one of my ideas was the superior one, but they all ignored it, or changed it to suit what they wanted. I couldn’t wait for the day when I would actually be taken seriously. My mother hated when I would tell her about that. She always told me it was pointless to be upset over </span>
  <em>
    <span>silly</span>
  </em>
  <span> things like that. She never understood. She still doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  I sit on the floor and eat, my back against the concrete wall. The food isn’t appetizing, it never is, but it’s something to use my mind for. I down it quickly, as to stop myself from tasting it’s ratchet flavor. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, you’re so pathetic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And there she is. Or, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span> is. The voice is smooth, sliding through my ears to my head. I’ve started to enjoy this voice. It’s something or </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> different. I turn away from the wall and lay on the ground, feeling my back straighten out. I stretch my arms above my head and stare at the ceiling. It’s just as bland as the rest of the walls, but it’s something new. I feel the need to talk back to the voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm not pathetic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At breakfast the next day there’s still no Thomas. I can’t help but wonder where he went. Is he coming back? I sit alone at the same table in the corner, and desperately wish for his presence. God, maybe I am pathetic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t eat the food, just move it around the tray, making stars and hearts out of it. I can almost hear my parents in the back of my head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you’re not going to eat it, push it aside, don’t sit there and play with it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I don’t listen to them. It’s almost satisfying. I peek at the clock every now and then. This half hour is taking forever to go by, especially now that I'm alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm still sitting there, disobeying my parents, when two figures walk up to my table. Their young, and silver. It makes me wonder how they got to be here, but I don’t ask. They don’t sit, but lean across the table towards me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatcha doin there, Calore.” One says, snickering in my face. I ignore him and continue pushing the food in different directions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you deaf?” the other says, leaning closer so they’re right in my ear. He blows air at me and I flinch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave me alone.” I state, shifting away from them. They only move closer, and continue their taunting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, did we upset you. Sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>your highness.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> I grit my teeth and try to ignore them. But they continue, talking to each other now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, he doesn’t have a crown to protect him anymore.” They both laugh obnoxiously. I start to recognize their voices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver Laris, a windweaver. One of Cal’s old best friends. They fought together, or, were going to fight together. It’s kind of funny how someone so close to Cal, and so elite, could end up in a place like this. We share that in common, but I'm sure he doesn’t think of it that way. I turn to look at the other one. He’s a bit shorter, but still taller than me, I can tell that even sitting down. Andros Eagrie. I never was close with him. He trained with us in Summerton for a while after Queenstrial. He wasn’t that good of a fighter, but he did beat me a few times. I start to wonder what they could do to me now. Even without their powers they’re still stronger than me. They’re built like Cal and Ptolemus, nothing but muscle. I, on the other hand, spent months growing thinner and thinner. They could snap me in half if they tried. I'm suddenly scared of them. I'm not really in the mood to be beaten today. The fear takes over me and I find myself trying to get further away from them. There’s no safe place for me to run to, but there are guards near us. If I could get their attention I’d be fine, they could stop them. Then the realization hits me. Andros is an Eye, he can see the future. There’s no silent stone stopping him. He can see whatever I'm trying to scheme. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you scared?” Andros says to me, to close for liking. Oliver snickers at his side when I don’t answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave. Me. Alone,” I tell them again, harsher with my words. They aren't affected though, they know I'm powerless, and they're enjoying it immensely. I stand up with my tray, walking as fast as I can away from them, trying to get closer to the guards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going?” Oliver yells at me. They follow behind me and I know I'm not going to like what comes next. Andros grabs my shirt and pulls me back, the tray I had in my hands drops and the uneaten food splatters on the ground. I yelp in surprise. He maneuvers around me so Oliver can stop me from trying to run. They’re surrounding me, I have nowhere to go. All of a sudden there's pressure on the side of my face, and a numbing sensation. I can feel blood on my cheek, but I don’t know where i've been cut, or if it’s even mine. The pain reaches my stomach next, but it’s different. It knocks all my breath from me and I slump to the floor. They both start kicking me, having no mercy of where the feet land. I’m completely powerless, there’s nothing I can do to stop them. Something cuts me in my shoulder, making me cry out in pain. Even with my eyes squeezed shut, I can tell I'm bleeding. I try to stand but they push me back down. Through the buzzing in my ears I can hear the other prisoners. They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheering. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They want me to be beaten. The kicking ends abruptly, and I take a breath of relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He ruined our lives!” Oliver yells at one of them. I feel a tight grip on my arm, pulling me up and steering me out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, move.” I oblige, walking with whoever it is. They take me down the hall and to the infirmary, where there’s a doctor, but no healers. I start to feel dizzy as I lay on the bed, and I can feel my eyes begin to droop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I wake up I can still feel pain, but all of my cuts are cleaned and there are bandages on them. The doctor in the room notices me stirring and comes to my side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does it feel,” he asks referring to the largest one on my torso. “Apparently they had plastic forks or something like that, which helped them cut you open.” I shrug my shoulders in response. He examines the cut a bit further, poking at it with his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what happens when you start a fight,” he says, turning away, “That will earn you a good night in solitary.” I'm taken aback. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t start the fight, they did. I didn’t even fight back!” He doesn’t listen to me though, or believe me, just continues doing his work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The guards reported that you were taunting them, and you made them want to hurt you.” My blood boils at the accusation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what happened,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what they told the warden.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>About 30 minutes later, and a few more scoldings from the doctor, two guards show up to take me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck,” the doctor says. I turn towards him but he’s talking to the guards.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>These people are so stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. My mother tells me, like I didn't already know. They lead me down a few hallways, each one getting darker and darker. The air feels moist, and for once in my life I wish I was a nymph. I’d be able to soak up whatever leaky pipe was around here and use it to help me escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors are all solid steel, and inside them is nothing but more cement and darkness. Maybe if I was a magnetron I could free myself. But it’s obvious they wouldn’t be so stupid as to put a metal manipulator down here. There’s a whole other building for them. It’s made out of wood and glass entirely, so basically non metal objects. When I heard that a prison was being built, I was expecting something like the cells below Whitefire, completely smothered in silent stone. But Cal, and his myriad of red advisors, wanted something better. Less … </span>
  <em>
    <span>cruel.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I'm surprised they pulled it off. This island can hold every dangerous type of silver with no calamity. Of course, there are some silvers that can’t be held back without silent stone, like Eyes. But, they pose no harm, and there are few here due to the fact that they can predict the outcome of what might happen to them. It’s unfair really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slide open one of the doors and, thankfully, let me walk in myself. I can’t handle any more manhandling today. I'm not sure about what time it is, and I'm not tired, so I feel my way over to a corner and sit down. The floor has a chill to it, not exactly cold, but cool enough that I feel it.  I hug my knees to my chest and rest my chins there, straining to see anything in front of me. It’s no use. I'm all of a sudden thankful my mother took my fear of the dark away. I’d be scared shitless if she hadn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>See she is useful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Those words send a cold shiver through me. I don’t necessarily think that’s true, but the voice in my head does. I don’t even know if I would be scared of the dark anymore, if my mother hadn’t taken it. I’d most likely have grown out of it by now. I'm 19 for god’s sake. Sometimes I wish she’d have just let me be. I was a kid when my mother started all of this. I had no choice in the matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thomas.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This time it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>her voice that plagues me. She’s reminding me of when Thomas ‘died.’ I was depressed when I came back from the front. I had to parade around Archean and pretend I enjoyed what I had endured. It was days of endless parties and constant broadcasts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The princes are home!  </span>
  </em>
  <span>After about a week I pretended I was too tired to do anymore of it. It wasn’t a lie, the only thing I’d wanted to do was lay in my bed for a month.  Most of that stuff was for Cal anyways. He was the heir. He was more important. The country loved him more. It didn’t bother me then, I guess it never really did. I enjoyed having my own space, without the weight of the entire court on my back. My mother created the problem, she wedged the thoughts into my head. And against better judgement, I listened. When I came back from the front I had begged her to remove Thomas from my thoughts. She tried, it didn’t work. She only made everything worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You asked for my help. You did have a choice.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She is right. “I only asked because I thought you could help. It was you that wouldn’t stop.” My accusation shuts her up completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night passed by slower than I thought it would. I received dinner. It was rather difficult to eat when I couldn’t see what it was. Countless times I accidentally stuck my hand into the mess. I was thankful nobody could see me do that. I was in and out of sleep for most of the night. Nobody ever specified how long I’d be there, except the doctor but he could’ve been wrong, so I kept waking up thinking I was almost done. The ground and walls got colder over time, making me shiver. This meant the weather was changing, It was most likely night when this happened. Without any source of flame my body lacked the intense heat it normally had. The cold has more of an effect on me. I'm not used to it. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a burner. It’s a good ability, but not very useful for everyday life. I think the only reason I ever enjoyed it was because I reheated my bathwater whenever I wanted, it never got cold. I miss taking baths. Yes, I'm deathly afraid of water, but I do enjoy a thrill. I guess it was relaxing. I could let my mind wander.  My mother stayed out of my head while I was bathing, she probably thought I was doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>other things. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It almost makes me laugh to think that. I wish I could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, after I don’t know how long, somebody opens the door. The light was extreme against my eyes, pulling them closed. I squinted, trying to get a look at who was there. It was just a random guard. He pulled me out and escorted me back to my regular cell in a rush. He was quiet, and didn’t bother telling me anything, but It’s not like I asked. I didn’t bother, I was too exhausted. It was bright outside, so I was probably in there for a day. Maybe longer.  Once back, despite the pain in my forehead from the lights, I crash on my bed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Unexpected Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Is this to long???? I don't want to bore anyone lol</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning, I'm woken earlier than usual. And the guard slamming my cell door open isn’t Thomas. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He left you after he realized how pathetic you are.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There it is again, the voice that doesn’t belong to my mother. I’m not as alarmed, the voice doesn’t cause me to flinch like it did before. I’m almost positive it’s male, but sometimes it has a playful edge. It could be feminine. But I'm sure it’s my own brain making it up. Maybe because Mother isn’t around to do her meddling I'm finally able to think for myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard comes to me quickly and roughly throws my blanket to my feet. Somehow, at the same time, he manages to pull me off my bed. I stumble a bit. Lately, I’ve been unusually clumsy. Probably from the hours in solitary, just sitting there. “Well, good morning to you too,” I say, tugging on his grip so I can stand by myself. He doesn’t let go and forces my hands together in front of me. I’ve seen other prisoners being taken in the morning. They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>treated like this. Most are told what’s happening, and even get some time to get ready. Or whatever that means. I, on the other hand, experience a different type of treatment. These guards are ruthless. I have many bruises on my arms, just from escorting me places. They probably think I deserve this </span>
  <em>
    <span>special </span>
  </em>
  <span>treatment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what’s going on,” I add, trying to assert some dominance. He still doesn’t even glance at me and encases my hands in steel handcuffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a visitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words send a shudder through me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> I’ve never really had a visitor</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>yes, representatives had come to take ‘statements’ from me. And that could be what this is. But it’s been months since that happened. Why would someone come now? And who could that someone be?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard basically drags me down a few hallways, not even giving me time to wake up. I can feel that my hair is badly tousled, and I have no way to fix it. I guess i’m going for a rustic look today. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I'm about to make a splendid impression. I know that I don’t smell the best, the last time I took a shower was a few days ago, and I didn’t even get time to brush my teeth. I slowly raise my cuffed hands to my mouth and use my sleeve to scrape a bit of plaque off the front row of my teeth. Before I can get far the guard, ever so nicely, rips my hands back down in front of me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> to freshen up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just scoffs at me and continues pushing us forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rude.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When we get to the private rooms, I realize this won’t be a regular visitor. Not that I get enough to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>regular</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but this is definitely unusual.  And I know who’s here before I even enter the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>About five or six sentinels stand outside a door, their robes flaming against the cool air of the prison. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My stupid brother can’t ever stay away for long. I knew that, but I didn’t think he’d be here so soon. I mean, 6 months definitely isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>soon, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but it's small compared to the lifetime i’ll be spending here. And as much as this surprise visit is intriguing, I really would rather not see him. Not today at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My lovely guard stops to open the door, and leaves me standing in the hallway. I can feel the burning gazes from the sentinels around me. I don’t blame them, It’s not everyday they see an ex-king behind bars. I meet their stares, taking the time to glance at every single one of them. They all have the same storm gray eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re nymphs. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s ironic. I notice their robes first, different from the ones they wore when I, or my father, ruled. They have a deep purple lining on the cape over their shoulders, and the Calore insignia, still red and black, has a new badge next to it. It’s smaller, but still eye catching. The interior is jet black, and it has a purple lighting bolt streaking through it. Mare made changes. I can’t say it looks horrible, but it’s not the best blend of colors, especially in this lighting. The men carry large guns along with smaller ones in holsters on their hips. That’s definitely excessive and more of a danger to them if you think about it. I can’t imagine the mayhem that would happen if any of my fellow inmates got their hands on them. I chuckle at their stances. They block me from the corridor leading to the main office and the entrance. I couldn’t escape if I tried, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and I have tried.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There are too many guards down that hallway, and even if I did manage to make it through the doors, there’s a huge barbed wire fence surrounding this place. It's at least 30 feet tall, and electric. So I wouldn’t stand a chance. And, there is still the fact that this place is an island. That speaks for itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My guard comes back out of the room and grabs my elbow, forcing me inside. I cheekily grin at the sentinels, trying to make them uneasy. It works wonders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the room, Cal sits on the opposite side of a wooden table, facing the door. I don’t meet his gaze as the guard pushes me into the chair opposite of him. Strangely, he’s not as rough as before. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonder </span>
  </em>
  <span>why. He uses another pair of handcuffs to connect my hands to two metal rings on the table. When he leaves, silence fills the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Absentmindedly, I tug at the restraints, seeing if they’d budge, they don’t, and can feel my brother’s gaze on me as I do this. He’s judging me. He looks at my hair and my face, then at the rest of me, obviously noting how thin I’ve gotten. I stiffen under his gaze and he stops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They're made of steel,” he refers to the handcuffs, “you can't break them.” I don’t answer him, studying the lines on the table instead. His hands rest in front of him, and it's hard not to stare at his flamemakers, shining in the fluorescent lighting. He takes notice of my gaze and quickly takes them away from my sight. He’s never visited me before, the last time I saw him was my sentencing, and that wasn’t really a pleasant meeting. He clears his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re probably wondering why I'm here,” he speaks again. I still won’t answer him. He sighs and continues speaking. “I wanted to see how you were doing, after all this … time.” I can tell that’s not the real reason. Guilt probably crept up on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is prison Cal, I'm sure you can guess how I'm doing,” I mumble, still not looking in his eyes. He’s disappointed by my answer, I can tell that much, but he doesn’t say anything about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The warden contacted me, she said you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>disrespecting</span>
  </em>
  <span> other inmates here. Would you care to explain?” His whole demeanor changes, and he tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So that’s why he came.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You talked to the warden?” I state, lazily slumping back into my chair. “You know, I always wondered. Why do you let a red run this place? To give them the revenge they so </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperately </span>
  </em>
  <span>needed?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, tell me. Was it Mare?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, she’s not red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes she is, I saw her.” I fumble over my words, questioning them even as they come out. “She looks red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her name is Marlee, and she’s from house Macanthos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was unexpected.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seriously don’t remember her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marlee. The name holds no recollection. House Macanthos, she’s a stoneskin. Why don’t I remember her? I know every house and every person apart from them, I can thank my mother for that one, but she is completely unfamiliar.  “We grew up with her,” Cal’s talking gently now, trying to get me to remember but it’s not working. I’m searching my memories, looking for a face but it’s not there. She’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>there.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “It’s okay if you can’t.” Great, now he’s trying to comfort me. That’s the last thing I want from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Forget it, it doesn’t matter,” I say, dropping the subject. She, whoever </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> is exactly, told Cal I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>disrespecting</span>
  </em>
  <span> people. What the hell does that mean? Last I checked, Oliver and Andros were coming after </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not the other way around. So far, I don’t like Marlee. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I state, grinding my teeth together. I bring him back to his question and he scoffs at me, not believing a word I'm saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What exactly happened?” He may never believe me. I would be very surprised if he did. I’ve had incidents here before. Whether it was trying to escape, fighting guards, or turning two inmates against each other, he never came. I’ve done so much shit and he never showed up. Why now? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter. You won’t believe me anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven. Tell me, now.” His voice is anything but threatening, still, I obey anyway. I want to get as much as I can from this meeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look up into his eyes for the first time. “It was two other people, silver. They were taunting me at my table during breakfast. I tried to ignore them but they wouldn’t go away. They kept getting closer and closer, closing me in. I got up to leave and they followed me. They hit me,” I gesture to the still black and blue bruise on my forehead, “apparently they had plastic forks. They were trying to kill me. Though, I don’t know how forks would’ve helped. I didn’t even fight back, I couldn’t. Guards stopped the whole thing quickly. I got taken to the infirmary and before I could even explain what had happened they locked me up in solitary, blaming it all on me. I swear I didn’t do anything, Cal. I swear.”  When I'm done he stares at me bleakly, no expression indenting his perfect features. I want him to believe me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Solitary?” he asks the question like he’s never heard of it before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Cal.” I answer, already over his childish frit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you're telling me,” he pauses, “that you were treated unfairly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a lacking word.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that they wouldn’t give you a chance to tell your side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did the other two get punished?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s angry, but I'm not sure why. I thought he didn’t care about me, that’s why he locked me up in here. He wanted nothing to do with me. I watch him across the table, playing out ideas in his head. “Are you okay?” He suddenly asks me. I roll my eyes. Of course he would ask something like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven I’m serious, did they hurt you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course they hurt me you idiot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, other than your head. Where else?” I don’t think that information is important, but I oblige anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a few cuts on my stomach, from the forks, but that’s about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I suddenly remember my problem, one that’s been a burden since I came here. “My back,” I motion behind me, “But it hurt before, it’s not entirely their fault. I’ve requested to see a healer in the past, but that didn’t happen.” I can tell he’s mad, even more than before. Maybe he does care about me. “You don’t have to do anything about it.” I say, trying to reassure him. I don’t want any trouble that he might cause. Yes, he is the king of Norta, but once he’s gone that doesn’t matter. Everybody seems to forget who I actually am, and what he would do if anything happened to me. They forget that he could hurt them. Cal just sits there. He looks back up at me and I can tell he’s dropping the subject. We sit there for a few moments, in uncomfortable silence. He’s making it awkward, not me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did Thomas come here?” I ask suddenly. Cal’s face contorts into something incoherent. I need to know more. There has to be a reason he came here. He knows what I'm talking about, but he might not tell me. I have to persuade him, somehow. Thomas did tell me he talked to Cal, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mare. I scoff internally. I’ve really come to hate that red. But I want to know what he’ll say first. I need to save that secret for later, in case there's a use for it. Cal is still silent, and I'm beginning to wonder if he’ll say anything. He’s probably debating if it’s a good idea for me to know whatever it is. If he doesn’t tell me, I know it's a big deal, at least to Cal. “I want to know,” I say, a little more aggressive. I want to know if i’ll ever see him again. If he’ll even come back here. “Please.” Cal takes a breath and leans back in his chair, losing the diplomatic stance he possessed before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, I want to tell you, but I can’t,” he sounds almost upset when he says this. His eyes look sad too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why,” I say with a breath. His sadness is contagious, and I catch it almost instantly. “I won’t tell anyone, not even Thomas. He won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven,” he says instantly, “I'm not refraining because of Thomas, It’s because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What.” I’m more disturbed than angry at his response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry-,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I cut him off, “You can’t do this. Thomas meant so </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me, and you know that. You've known that for a long time. You can’t just send him here, knowing how I feel, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>assign </span>
  </em>
  <span>him to me. It doesn’t work like that. I don’t care that you have more </span>
  <em>
    <span>power</span>
  </em>
  <span> than me here. I don’t. I just want to know why you think he should be here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I know you still care about me, or I wouldn’t be alive. And if you really care about me you’d have thought about how Thomas would affect me. Is that not true? And somehow you decided that him being here would be good. I need to know why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cal has a blank look on his face. “Mavey, it wouldn’t be good for you to know.” I ignore the nickname and the basic insult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine.” I lean forward and try to rest my chin on my knuckles, ready to listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas thought he could help you. He wanted to come here and see you, in person. Mare and I tried to tell him not to, but he persuaded me. At first I didn’t believe it was actually him, it was quite the conversation. He thinks he can help, really, and I'm going to let him try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you just hire a shrink?” The comment is sudden, said before I even process what Cal told me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, that’s not funny,” he answers, but I can tell he wants to laugh. I wish he would. It would make this whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm meeting my brother in a prison for the first time in six months and it's completely awkward </span>
  </em>
  <span>feeling go away. Or at least suppress it for a few moments. It’s not a surprise Thomas thought he could help me. It explains why he basically interrogated me over a game of Monopoly a few days ago. But what upsets me is that Cal, Tom, and Mare allegedly talked about me. I can’t say I don’t like the attention, spare as it is. It just makes me wonder what they talked about. Obviously my state of mind came up, but what else? Still, if he thought he could help, why did he disappear? Why would he just leave me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you …  know where Thomas is?” I ask Cal reluctantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” he questions, but I can see that he knows something. He’s way too easy to read.</span>
</p><p><span>“He was here, and then,” I don't know if I should go into great detail, whatever it was that happened between Thomas and I should stay between Thomas and I. That is, if he didn’t already go and tell Cal, “he just vanished. I haven’t seen him in a few days.” I can see in his eyes that Cal has a lot of questions, but they’re most likely not for me. “If you </span><em><span>assigned</span></em><span> him to me, shouldn’t he, you know, be around?” Cal doesn’t answer. He just sits there, brooding, as usual. I stare off into space, wondering when this little meeting will be over. Normally, these things would only last half an hour, sometimes even shorter. But, Cal isn’t what people around here would call a </span><em><span>normal </span></em><span>visitor. I have no doubt that he’s already endured some type of special treatment. This could last for hours, if not longer. But that’s a little excessive, and I know my brother is not one to dwell on things for a long time. And I hope he hasn’t made a habit of it since we’ve been apart. I could change the subject, switch it over to him and his life. Although, I'm not sure about how much he’d be willing to share. I know it’d be weird for the both of us if I brought up Mare. He has to know that I'm aware</span> <span>they’re </span><em><span>married</span></em><span>. Right? I know he can be clueless, but he’s not that dumb. I could ask about the country. Or what Iris is up to. Or Montfort. Cal definitely isn’t going to tell me anything important. I'm not stupid. I know a little more than the average inmate here, but that doesn’t mean anything to him. In most places like this, they try to keep to prisoners clueless to the outside world. It’s not a bad tactic, I admit. It works in terms of punishment, and, if anyone were to escape, It'd be like they were in an entirely new environment. But most of all it keeps them weak, depending on the guards or even the warden. If they can’t get information, they lose their chances of escaping.  Before I can say anything more to Cal, a sentinel appears through the door.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Your Majesty,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cal instantly straightens, gaining the kingly aura he’s always had. It frightens me for a second. He looks less like my brother at this moment, and it almost scares me. He’s clearly more of a king than I ever was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sentinel Osanos,” he says, somehow turning more noble with his words, though they are simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been one hour, and the queen is waiting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A picture of Mare instantly pops into my head. She’s sitting in a transport, draped in finery, with a small but shimmering crown on her head. I doubt that's what she actually looks like at this moment, but it’s fun to imagine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well,” Cal answers, standing from the chair. He spares me one glance, and I don’t miss the extra long stare at the handcuffs around my wrists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas will be back,” he says while he walks out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The food’s horrible by the way,” I respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Noted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thomas will be back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Good King</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This chapter is Cal's pov. I hope you enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>It </span><em><span>kills </span></em><span>me to see him like that. I knew I’d be forced to visit at some point, I just didn’t expect it to go like that, or happen </span><em><span>now</span></em><span>. It wasn’t the worst, but it still was completely bad at the same time. Although, I did somewhat enjoy seeing Maven. He </span><em><span>is</span></em><span> my brother, and I know that it’s good for us to still have some sort of connection. Even if he’s locked up in prison for crimes I can't ever envision myself doing. Sometimes, when I'm lost in thought, I find it unfair that he’s even here. Yes, he did do many, </span><em><span>many, </span></em><span>horrible</span> <span>things. But unlike most criminals that reside here, he had someone telling him what to do. He had someone telling him what he was doing was </span><em><span>okay</span></em><span>. I know that he’s not entirely innocent, and I know that my brother will never be the same again, but that has to count for </span><em><span>something</span></em><span>. I tried to bring it up countless times in meetings. I wanted him to get actual treatment. He doesn’t need to be in a prison, he needs to be somewhere where he’s actually going to get help. Nobody agrees with me on that though, or at least they don’t want to. There’s a facility in a part of the Disputed Lands. I’ve talked to a few doctors there. They agreed with me that it would be best for Maven to receive some type of care from them. The real problem is </span><em><span>how</span></em><span>. There’d have to be guards, and I mean more than the regular orderies. It’d have to withhold maximum</span> <span>security. That’s half the reason Maven is here and not in some cell underneath Whitefire. Nobody’s afraid Maven will break out, he’s hardly capable of something like that, we’re afraid someone might break </span><em><span>in. </span></em><span>It’s no secret everybody who was a part of, or witnessed, the war holds a grudge against him. I can’t risk someone trying to hurt him, or kill him. When Thomas showed up, the real Thomas. I was thrilled to finally have some hope of helping Maven out. I thought that if I couldn’t put him somewhere to get help, I could bring the help </span><em><span>to </span></em><span>him. Though Thomas isn’t exactly someone trained to help, he was </span><em><span>someone. </span></em><span>That’s all I really wanted. It’s a risk, I can’t lie. Even though Thomas had been staying in Archean with the court, I still don’t know much about him. He did gain my trust. Mare was constantly telling me to make him leave. I don’t think she likes the idea of Maven becoming a better person. She mourns him like he’s dead, and she likes to blame him for everything that happened. It’s her way of coping, and I can't blame her. It’s easy. Mare and I both have our days. We mourn differently, and for entirely different people. Where I grieve for the brother I had, she grieves for someone she loved. I can’t, or don’t, want to imagine how she feels. We can never seem to help each other either. Neither of us understand the real pain the other is going through. Nanabel tells me to forget, to move on. </span><em><span>He’s safe and so is this country</span></em><span> she says. But she always cared more about the crown and who wore it. It’s just hard to be a leader, a king, when the one person who I planned on being there isn’t. Yes, I have many people at my side. After giving up his throne in the Rift, Ptolemus joined my team of advisors. We were never close, but we were friends, and he’s a familiar face. Evangeline now resides in Montfort, with Elane. And they join us here too. Mostly to visit her brother, but I know they like to try and find out how Mare and I are running this country. Evangeline still makes her comments, about how she would have made </span><em><span>such</span></em><span> a better queen. Sometimes, she’s not wrong. But we all know being queen is nothing she wants. Not anymore. Mare is surprisingly better at ruling than I initially thought. I'm happy for her help. Though, I have to admit, she is very stubborn when it comes to the reds. I'm trying to make change slow, and she’s not thrilled about that. Yes, it would be good to just hand out money to them, but not for the economy. I also don’t want to cause a rebellion with the silvers. And now it seems there’s more discrimmination than before. The high houses are still in a bit of a shock. I had to imprison some of them. Now that caused trouble. They were trying to start another war, to get Mare off the throne. Riots were happening. It was a complete mess. As soon as the prison got built, I arrested almost half of house Laris. But it’s not all bad. Julian convinced me to write a diary. At first I was appalled, but over time it grew on me. It, weird as this sounds, makes me feel closer to my mother. It tricks me into believing I'm anything like her. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>When I make it outside rain is pouring. It makes the ground soggy and difficult to walk on. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And people wonder why I hate water. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Though the weather makes me want to run back inside, I hold my head up and make my way over to the transport. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take us to the warden’s place,” I say to the sentinel, holding my door open. He nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mare is still inside, staring blankly out the tinted windows. She told me this was a bad idea, yet had to come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The weather’s horrible,” I say as I step inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that really what our relationship’s come to, Cal? Talking about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>weather?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She jokes. She smiles at me but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She hates this island, and for good reason. Her brother’s buried here, which makes this place difficult. And now Maven, the boy who she still has nightmares about, lives near him. That can’t be a good combination in her head. I sit down across from her. This transport is smaller than most, even though it’s meant for the royal family. It’s old too, the same one Maven and I used to ride in. I’m surprised it’s still running, but that wasn’t so long ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is he?” Mare hesitantly asks. I’m surprised she’d say anything about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s,” I pause thinking for the right thing to tell her, “He’s okay.” It's the only thing I could think of, even if it’s far from the truth. Though I only saw him for about an hour, I can see some kind of change in him. The change is small, but it’s there. He actually talked to me, rather than saying something hurtful every two seconds. That’s good in my eyes. I don’t think he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>better, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he’s getting there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mare doesn’t look at me, clearly thinking of Maven and her experiences with him. The only way she’d ever believe me is if she saw him for herself. And that would only work if Maven didn’t put up a shield. I’m not even sure if Mare </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to see him. “He’s different than before.” I add, instantly regretting it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How?” she asks, turning to look me in the eye, suddenly intrigued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hard to explain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” is all she says, turning back towards the glass. I wish she’d have gone with me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can tell he’s getting better. It was hard to see, but he’s changing, and I think it’s for good.” I decide to say. This is a hard thing for both of us to talk about, especially with each other. Her face still reflects off the glass, she might not even be listening to me. “He’s gotten thinner, though.” I add, “And it’s clear he doesn’t sleep well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was like that before, I’m sure it will take some time for him to regain weight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but it’s been six months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not a lot of time, and I can bet you the guards aren't making sure he’s eating or sleeping.” I have to agree with her, but it makes me angry. I’m repulsed by the way he’s treated. But, this is prison. At least he has Thomas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The transport shakes against the uneven terrain of the island. It may be flat, but that doesn’t mean there aren't a ton of rocks. I join Mare, looking out the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought the port was that way,” she notes, pointing to the other side of the island. I follow her finger and take a look. In this weather, it’s hard to see anything, but I can make out the few large ships that are docked in the water.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is,” I answer, “I’m going to meet with Marlee while we're here, to discuss Maven. Maybe we’ll speak with Thomas too. I want to know what he found out, and Marlee can help sort out Maven’s … issues.” Mare knows what I mean when I say that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve said this before, but I’m still not sure we can trust Thomas,” she responds, “He told us next to nothing about his background, or even how he’s still alive. Maven made it very clear, on many occasions, that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed </span>
  </em>
  <span>Thomas. I think we deserve at least some explanation. He could be a lakeland spy for all we know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mare is right. It’s smart to be suspicious of Thomas. “It would be stupid not to use him with Maven, to help open him up,” I add. Mare scowls, practically rolling her eyes at me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But is that more important than this country?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mare-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s in a position that could be damaging if he went rogue. I know you care about your brother, but seriously, we can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.” She leans back against the cushioned seat, losing whatever regal composure she had. It’s clear she had been thinking about this for a while. And it would be rude to ignore the fact that she’s right. Even if I don’t want to believe it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at me with a winning smirk on her face. “Aren't I always.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The warden’s house is rather small compared to the rest of the buildings on this rock. And yet, it could probably hold three armies. Mare takes it in beside me, tilting her head up just to see the top floors. It’s newly painted in a sickly green color, perfectly accentuating the dreariness of where it sits. With the pouring rain and the foggy sky, this almost seems like a movie scene, or an old photograph, faded at the edges. I sicken at the water lapping near the edge of the house. It petrifys me to even be so close to it. As if she senses my unease, Mare links her arms through mine, guiding us both to the front door. Our sentinels try to follow, but I wave them off. I’d rather not have any ears listening to the conversations that are about to happen. I know their loyalties lie with me, but that won’t stop the neverending profusions of gossip. Silvers have always been like that. They feed off of it, especially court members. It’s how the secret about Maven got out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I built this prison as quickly as I could after the war was over. I wanted something better than the cells under Whitefire. Yes, there was always the monstrosity of Corros, but that was almost destroyed after the Scarlet Guards raid there. Also, easily accessible. Tuck just happened to be the best option. I was thankful it was already empty. There were a few buildings, but they were quickly knocked down. And a monstrosity of brick slabs replaced them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Inside, the house isn’t as scary. There are a few unfinished walls, with doorways covered in blue tarps. But, other than that, it seems almost cozy. The walls are all painted in different shades of blue, mimicking the ocean behind them. And, despite being brand new, the floors creak in certain places. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your Majestys,” Marlee says, dipping into a stiff bow. Her father was an advisor from Archean. He worked with my father from time to time. House Macanthos was never too eager to be near the throne, not like the Samos.’ They were a lesser known house, but nonetheless powerful. A stoneskin is just as deadly as a magnetron, if they know how to use their ability properly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I never got the chance to get to know Marlee. She’s about five years my senior, and never came to the palaces often, except for the regal balls Elara hosted. Even then, she didn’t socialize like everybody else did, preferring to stay near her mother. I didn’t judge. Hell, I didn’t even notice her. I was more caught up in making everybody like me and impressing my father. I’m almost relieved those days are behind me. I don’t think I would have lasted long as king with my father breathing down my neck. And not to mention, Evangeline at my side. Thank my colors Mare showed up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marlee leads us down the hall to another room. This one is actually finished and finely decorated, resembling the parlors in the palace. Mare and I take a seat on a plush sofa, and Marlee across from us. Despite this place being drearier than a graveyard, she is dressed lavishly, dripping in gold, wrapped in fine silks and expensive cotton fibers. Even Mare notices it, looking down at her own clothes, like she should be ashamed. Some habits never break. I nudge her slightly, and she raises her head back to where it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there anything I can do for you?” Marlee asks, ending the stretch of silence. Mare looks at me, expecting me to say something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here visiting my brother,” I say,  I received your call and I wanted to speak to him after certain … allegations were made.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” She asks, stopping me. Even Mare seems surprised by what I'm saying. In spite of being interrupted, I continue.</span>
</p>
<p><span>“From what he told me, he was not disrespecting</span> <span>other inmates. He was doing nothing of the sort. You put him in solitary for something he didn’t even do.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you want me to do,” she answers, “I punished him for what the guards told me happened. That’s how things work. I can trust the guards. I would never trust a </span>
  <em>
    <span>criminal</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who else was involved?” I question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who else.” She looks intimidated and I'm glad. Mare nudges my side as a warning. She doesn’t like this type of conflict, and neither do I. Before she became queen she asked me if being king had changed me. Like my father and his father before. I told her it didn’t, but it was a lie. Being a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>king means you have to make sacrifices. Some to yourself. I’m trying to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> king. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oliver Laris and Andros Eagrie.” She finally answers. I can’t say I'm not surprised at her answer. I barely knew Andros. But Oliver, he was my friend. They’re people that I was taught to trust. The war changed them, more than I originally thought. It hurts me sometimes, but I know it was good, it was worth the betrayal. I made life better for thousands of reds, thousands of innocent people, living a horrible, unfair existence because of a lie. Or at least I tell myself that. I’m still working on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were they… punished?” I bring myself to ask. Mare stiffens at my answer, clearly not expecting it. She grabs my hand. It’s drenched in sweat. She knows what these people meant to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maven was, it would be ignorant to not do the same for the other two,” Mare pipes up. I know she doesn’t completely believe that. She doesn’t even know the full story, the true story. She’s sticking up for me, planting her feet at my side. Marlee stares at us, obviously surprised. She probably thought we would be satisfied by the fact that Oliver and Andros weren’t penalized. Even though they’re here for a reason, I can see why she’d respect them more than Maven. We all knew each other from before but, Maven </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one who disgraced us silvers. They hold resentment for him. All of them do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, they were not.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why,” Mare answers before I can. I can feel the room's temperature increasing, she probably can too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“From what I was told, they were mistreated. I punished who I thought responsible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well you thought wrong.” Mare’s angry now, I can tell. The air turns silent, all speaking stopped. I’m tempted to storm out, but that’s not kingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s security cameras,” Mare whispers so only I can hear, “I could feel them from outside. They’re everywhere.” Her words fill me with realization. There’s no way they didn’t check the cameras. Marlee said herself, she wouldn’t trust the words of a criminal. She’s lying. She lied to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maven has back problems,” I say suddenly, “I want you to give him a healer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t supply things like that, we have a red doctor-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said,” the roughness in my voice grows, “get him a healer before I ask to see the security cameras myself. I don’t think it would be helpful to see that you lied to your king. You do enjoy your position here, do you not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Marlee says, hesitant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then get a healer.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After that conversation Marlee guarded her information. She was probably scared to tell us anything, fearing that we wouldn’t be pleased. She should know that I would never fire her from this job. I need her here, and I appreciate the work she’s put in. But I’m not going to tell her that, at least not to her face. I need to reserve this regal and cold personality if I'm going to get her help at all for my brother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mare and her talk the most, and I just listen. They talk about how she’s running the place and the other prisoners. She won’t talk about Maven. There’s reds here too. I can see that she wants to know about them. Their treatment, where they’re staying. I made the decision to not put reds and silvers together. I know it would make them seem somewhat less equal, but in the end, without silent stone I can’t give them the protection they need from the silvers. I do not want to be solving a murder anytime soon, not preferably. Mare was angry with me when I told her that. I thought she, of all people, would understand why I didn’t include silent stone in the building. I wasn’t building that place to torture people. Silent stone is worse then torture. It eats you away over time, almost to the point where you can’t live without it. Mare was lucky, but she’s strong. She overcame it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through the curtains I can see that the rain stopped, but the sky is now dark, littered with stars. I can all of a sudden feel the weight of tiredness pulling on my shoulders. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but It’s long enough. Mare and Marlee are still talking, but now it’s about insignificant things, like their families and their past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thomas is still here. Correct?” Mare glares at me like I’ve brought up a bad subject. I interrupted the peace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, he’s staying in the barracks. He requested time off,” Marlee answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” I say. I stand up and leave the room, flexing my leg muscles in the process. Mare comes after me but I stop her. “I’m going to talk to him about Maven.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, that doesn’t mean I can’t come,” she responds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d prefer to have this conversation alone, I’ll fill you in later. Stay here and talk with her, or wait in the transport. Please,” I kiss her lightly on the cheek and head out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The barracks are larger than what I’m used to, but that makes sense, based on how many guards reside here. They tower up in the sky, way above the roof of the prison. And they’re painted. These are </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>like I'm used to. They may be called barracks, but they resemble nothing like the ones during a war. The building would fit in perfectly in some high class silver neighborhood. Thomas was easy to find, I just needed a room number.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” he asks me, like I’m some kind of spy and not the man who built this place. He doesn’t refer to me with any title, I don’t know what to think about that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” He knows exactly who I mean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I already told you, he wouldn’t talk to me, not about anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you ask him any questions? Anything important, that he couldn’t push off.” Thomas thinks for a moment, looking down at his polished boots instead of my eyes. I can tell he’s about to lie to me, based off of his composure. He most likely already has lied to me. He’s not silver, it wasn’t branded into him as a child to mask his emotions. When he looks back up at me, clearly having made a decision on what to say, there’s tears in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just tell me the truth.” I can tell he’s holding it back. “Maven’s my brother, I need to know if you got </span>
  <em>
    <span>anywhere </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told him he could trust me, and that I wouldn’t tell anybody what he said,” he looks me in the eyes at this part, clearly showing his disapproval of me asking, “I want to keep that promise.” He seems sorry with his answer, and I can tell it’s real. The tears slide down his cheeks but he doesn’t wipe them away. He must really love Maven. I didn’t get told much about their relationship in the war, not from either of them. But their reactions for each other, the look on their face when someone mentions the other’s name. The look of pure interest, pure attachment. It tells me there’s more than friendship here. But, Maven’s in prison, and Thomas can’t be a guard forever. At some point he’s going to want to start a real life for himself. They might not ever be able to be together. I’m reminded of when I first met Mare. I knew there was something about her, something that drew me to her. And I couldn’t have her. It was the worst pain in the world, an ache that consumed me. I’d do anything to get her to love me back. I know that’s how Thomas feels. His is probably worse though. it's a built up ache, growing over time. I can almost see it in his face. He wants to get Maven back, he wants to help him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They put him in solitary,” I mutter. I can feel the anger rising again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I already tried to get him out. You’re the </span>
  <em>
    <span>King, </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t you do something?” He asks. I can see the accusation in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I already have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” It’s still weird that he talks to me like this, like I’m not important. He treats me like a random person off the street. He’s probably just angry. He cares for Maven.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, Mare already thinks you’re a traitor,” I'm careful to leave the spy part out. She could be right, “If you could just give me something. Help me prove to her you’re trustworthy.” He thinks for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He got emotional. Well, he didn’t cry, but I could tell he was sad. I could see the emotions on his face. I don’t know what he was like before, but that seemed significant. Even he seemed scared by it.” That is a good thing. It means he got through the barriers. It’s something at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I talked to a few doctors in parts of the Disputed Lands. They said they could help Maven. I need to figure out a way to get him there.” Thomas stares at me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doctors?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ve majored in psychology. They can help him, mentally.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So they’re silver.” Only silvers could’ve gone to big schools, ones that could get someone a job, before the war. He knows that, which makes him not trust them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re good people, I promise. And Maven is silver, so I thought it was best for someone, you know, like him to deal with it.” I stumble over my words, trying my best not to insult him. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to have been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. But we still have to figure out how to make that happen.” Thankfully, he’s stopped crying. It was starting to make me uncomfortable. Growing up around cold, silver men you don’t really see them cry. I’m surprised Thomas was so okay doing that around me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll figure something out.” Or at least I hope I can. “Also,” I add, summoning the kingly tone I once had, “Why aren’t you with Maven?” He seems scared by my tone, and is trying not to let me see that. “I assigned you to him, I expect you to be with him.” Great, now I sound like my father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He scared me last time I saw him. His demeanor. It was so different from before, I guess I didn't know how to process it.” I understand what he’s saying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just … get back to work.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Panicked Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trigger warning: Maven has a little bit of a panic attack and Thomas finds him in the midst of it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The light hums in my cell. It annoyed me when I first came here, making me want to reach up and crush it, but I've kept myself under control. It shines with a yellowish tint, not unlike the walls. It’s funny how this place was just built, and yet, it’s already coming undone. It’s likely caused by all of the moisture in the air. The ocean isn’t far away, and the guards smoke, constantly. The yellow stains will never be able to get scrubbed off, just painted over. And that won’t happen for another 30 years. I’ll be here. It’s something to look forward to. I wonder if they’ll change the color? Maybe to a light gray, or even a darker white. But, I doubt they’d choose something so bold. It’s not like they </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to make this place look remotely exciting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been almost two days since Cal’s unexpected visit. I haven’t left my cell once. I’m sure he did something, caused trouble. Well, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>he talked to someone with authority. Either with the warden or guards. It doesn’t matter which, both have the power to do anything they want with little to none reproving. Shortly after his visit a healer came. She was a prisoner, but not someone I was familiar with. She fixed my back and healed every cut and bruise littering my body. The guard who escorted her looked angry, so angry. He didn’t like the fact that I was being shown mercy. Likely, it’s why I'm here, nonmoving, stuck in a cell day after day. I knew that would happen. Cal did tell me, though, that Thomas would be back. I’m not sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I know I can trust his word. It’s not like he’d have any reason to lie to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or does he?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I answer her out loud. It doesn’t matter, there are no guards in sight to listen to my ramblings. I’d still choose to do it inside my head though. It gives me more of a liberty. They can’t decree me insane if they never hear me talk. Or could they? I don’t know anymore, nor do I care. Their judgments don’t define me, or affect me. My mother would disagree with that. She’s always worrying about what people think of me. What people think of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s quite selfish, really. She has better things to deal with.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Had better things, she’s dead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That voice was my own. It rang in my head, not my ears. I’m telling myself she’s gone. She really is gone. So why do I make her up? Why do I think she’s here?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you’re pathetic. Remember the patients. They were crazy, you’re just the same. You can</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
  <em>
    <span>t function without her, it won</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
  <em>
    <span>t work. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” The voice doesn’t care, it continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s dead. She’s gone and she’s not coming back. She won</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
  <em>
    <span>t help you, nobody can.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, you’re not real! I’m making you up.” I’m sweating now, scared by its words.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not making me up, and I'm not an it. I’m you. This is your voice. This is who you truly are. Stop resisting.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, please.” The last word comes out as a whisper, barely making a sound. I slide down the wall into a sitting position on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Quit acting like that, you’re fine. Why are you afraid of yourself?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” I’m breathing hard, it’s the only thing louder than the voice. Or, my voice. The room is too hot, it’s overwhelming. And it’s not me. I lost that ability when I lost my flamemakers. It’s a blaring heat, coming in rhythms. I can feel it on my face, pulsing, violently. It’s unnerving.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop being so pathetic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stop!” My breathing is coming in shorter breaths, fainter. I can’t control it. Am I having a panic attack? Is that what this is? My hands are shaking, it’s the only thing I can focus on, and my fingers are moving involuntarily, in all different directions. I stiffen them out, trying to stop it, but nothing good happens. The floor is the only cold thing I can feel, it brings me back into reality, partially. I can still hear the echoes of his voice, crawling back into the depths of my mind. Back into the dark, waiting to make a reappearance. Looking around, the room is spinning. The only rational thing I can think to do is hug my knees to my chest, although it does nothing to stop my heart rate. I can feel it through my skin, beating like there's an imminent threat in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down,” I tell myself, gripping tighter around my legs. I have to say it out loud to make sure it’s not the voice. “You’re okay, nothing is happening.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, something is happening. You’ve proven yourself to be weak.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ignore it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” I can feel hot tears coming down my cheeks. Quickly I stop myself. I can’t cry, I can’t let it hurt me. I lean my head back, against the wall, willing this torture to end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t seem like much time has passed, but there’s no way to actually tell. My body has no will to move so I sit, legs tucked close to me, in the corner. It’s a rather uncomfortable position, but it’s better than being at risk. Steps down the hallway make me jump, hugging myself tighter. They’re not slow, but moving rather quickly. The pounding on the floor has short intervals, making me think they’re running. What happened? Did they hear me? The pounding is getting closer, and faster. The wall can only protect me from so much, it’s not like I can sink into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is going on back here?” The speaker slides into my view.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thomas.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I guess he took his time. I don’t say anything as he observes me. I think he’s waiting for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He did ask you a question.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” I don’t want to hear anything else from that voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Thomas looks astounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t talking to you,” I declare, staring him down. He left me here, with no explanation. I’m mad. He gives me a look of what could be pure shock, but doesn’t press into the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard you yelling, I came as quick as I could.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yelling? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t remember doing that. There’s no way. Thomas watches me, full of confusion. When he slides the cell door open I shuffle further back into the wall. I don’t want anyone near me. I can’t trust anyone. He puts his hands in the air, surrendering, like I'm some type of animal and not a person. I can’t hide the flinch that comes when he does this, though. I think it scared him more than me. It was an accident, somehow I let it slip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, what’s wrong?” He stays away from me, understanding my body language. I’m still on edge. I don’t know what he’ll try and do. I can’t trust him. I can’t trust him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t trust him.” The look of alarm on his face frightens me. If he’s scared, shouldn’t I be too? But what scared </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I look over his shoulder and see that no ones there. Could something be in here? I would be scared too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, tell me what happened.” He sits down on the floor, exactly across from me. His hands stay up in the air, but his face softens. He’s realized something. “Come on, it’s okay.” His voice is calmer, almost soothing. Maybe I can trust him?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The voice is back, firm and dominant. I want to trust him, so bad, but is it a good idea? </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s not stopping. It wants me to trust it. It wants me so bad. Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> I really trust? Thomas is talking but I can’t hear him. My mind is swirling with ideas. Who's the right person to believe? I have to choose one of them, I can’t live with both. I’ve known Thomas, but there's things he’s not telling me. On the other hand, I've only known this voice for a short time, not even two weeks. It seems rational to just put my faith in it. Thomas’s mouth is moving, but I can’t make out a word he’s saying. It’s more of an echo, before I can grasp it, it’s moving further and further away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Trust me, Maven, trust yourself.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>The voice won’t stop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can help you, I can get you out. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Get me out? How would he do that?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Look to your left. Thomas made a mistake. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I follow what it’s telling me and find one thing. He did make a mistake, a grave one. Something against protocol. Something that could get him fired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left the door open. He walked in here, which is already breaking a rule, sat down, and left the door open. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Run. Go fast. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” I answer out loud, not caring if Thomas hears me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can’t you do, Mave.” If I run, I'd certainly get caught. I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>get caught. “Maven, tell me.” I’m glad he stayed far away. It’s a clear shot, straight through the door. One left, three rights, then I’m out. Yes, there's a fence and lots of guards, but I’d figure something out. I always do. I could leave, I could actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s a risk, but one I’m willing to take. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Go!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I leap out and start sprinting. Through the door and down the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven!” Thomas is yelling at me and I can already hear the other prisoners shouting, saying I’ll never make it. They’re jealous.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They are wrong. I’m going to make it, I will. I’m fast, it’s a strength I gained through many training sessions with Cal. I’ve never had much upper body strength, so he taught me to be quick. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you can’t fight them, outrun them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thought I was weak, he was teaching me to survive. Who knew it would come in handy. I haven’t ran in a while though, and I can feel the exhaustion of the past days creeping up on me. And, to make matters worse, footsteps. Only one pair, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thomas</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s chasing after me. I need to be quick. He’ll catch me for sure. He’s agile, I learned that at the front. And the training to come here probably heightened that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This was a bad idea. I should’ve stayed. I shouldn’t have listened to that damned voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But you did. Look where that got you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No, no, no, no, no. What are they going to do to me? Solitary? I can’t go back there. I can’t. It would only make me worse. Still, I can’t stop my feet from moving, they’re going slower, but still moving. What do I do? The only instinct I have is to stop. To take this on full force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I halt in the middle of the corridor. I didn’t even make it halfway? Thomas was right, I did change, I changed so much. I already am worse. Solitary wouldn’t have altered that. And it’s all my fault. All of it. I drop to my knees and cry. It’s an ugly cry, and it consumes me. There's nothing I can do. My chance is gone. I ruined it. I ruined </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Big arms wrap around me, hauling me to my feet. I do nothing to resist, lacking the will to even put pressure on the ground. I’m crying harder now, not caring about anything. He’s holding my back against his chest, trying to make me stand. I don’t concede though, letting my head tilt towards the floor. What did I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven what the hell was that! You can’t just run like that!” He’s angry, more than ever, and he has a right to be. It’s my fault. I listened to that stupid voice and it took me here. What was I thinking? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really thought you changed, but you just tricked me so you could run. That’s fucked up.” He thinks I tricked him. He thinks that </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> of me. I should’ve known that would happen. He doesn’t trust me, just as I can’t trust him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-,” It’s hard to talk when sobs are escaping your throat, “I’m sorry.” Thomas realizes I'm crying and stops yelling. We're surrounded by cells full of other prisoners, and they’re all laughing. They’re all laughing at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mave, you have to start telling me things. What the hell was that?” His voice has the tenderness from before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was his </span>
  <em>
    <span>majesty </span>
  </em>
  <span>thinking he was smarter than the rest of you,” A prisoner laughs a few feet over. I can feel Thomas’ head turn, he’s likely glaring, but I’m not sure. The block goes silent, spare one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s got guts, but that never worked for him. Look what happened in the war. The kid couldn’t even beat his big brother.” My cheeks become hot, and I keep my head down. Thomas turns the other way and the inmate shuts his mouth. The whole hallway erupts in laughter, but Thomas still stares at the one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna give you three seconds, three seconds to wipe that grin off your face before I come in there and kick your ass. I don’t want another word from your mouth,” he moves so he’s facing the whole hallway, “that goes for all of you.” Everything goes silent, even I try to hold back my sobs.  Thomas turns back around and picks my chin up so I'm looking in his eyes. I stare intently, not backing down. Not even the tears can stop me from holding my nobility. I can feel the other prisoners staring at us. To them, this is a play, ‘The Dyad of Disaster,’ is what they would call it. Thomas pays them no more attention and fixes his full gaze on me. “You have to tell me what’s going on inside your head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” the words come easy now, but still barely a whimper. I’ve significantly calmed down, though I can still feel my heartbeat. It’s better than before. Thomas keeps his eyes on me, but it’s clear he’s gone somewhere else. He’s thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m taking you to the infirmary,” He turns us around and starts outright dragging me in that direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I’m not going there they’ll hurt me,” He’s not listening, and continues pulling me. I can’t resist his grip, but I can fight and delay him. “Thomas!” I stop holding myself up and drop to my knees, “I can’t.” I’m firm with my voice, unwavering. The tears from before are long gone. It’s the tone I'd have used in the palace, something I’m well trained in. If I can’t beat him with strength, I’ll beat him with words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven stop this, I’m not giving you a choice.” by this time, we’re almost near my cell. Only a few feet from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care. What are they going to do anyway? Not much I’ll tell you that for sure.” He scoffs at me and tries to make me stand. I won’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is stupid. Get up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” How strange is it? My life has changed so much from when we first met. Then, he wouldn’t have dared to use that tone with me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it.” His hand reaches for his transmitter at his waist. He’s going to call for backup. I can’t let him do that, they’ll put me back in solitary for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!” I practically yell, “I don’t want them to hurt me.” I look like I'm kneeling in front of him. It reminds me of a very unfortunate day, back in Archean. Thomas stares down at me with a face full of scrutiny. His hand drops back down to his side. I’ve done it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you think they’d hurt you?” He asks this like I'm a child, not comprehending what’s actually happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t trust them,” is all I can say. It comes out quick, like an excuse, like I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>an excuse. I can feel the tears coming again, just the reminder of the other guards makes me want to cry. The mistreatment, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>harassment. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s all too much. Thankfully, Thomas notices the pained expression I'm making and drops the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, I can’t just put you back in your cell. You need help. I’m sorry.” His words set me off. He knows nothing about what I need. He doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t be helped!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mav-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you get it?” There’s no way he does, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t even know how to help myself. I don’t even comprehend what’s going on in my own head. It’s confusing even to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>How am I supposed to get help if I don’t even understand it myself?” </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>His expression starts to change, turning into all kinds of emotions. Hurt, confused, angry, helpless. He’s realizing things I could have never told him. He’s somewhat gaining an understanding of me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s perfectly normal. There’s no requirement for you to understand, it’s alright.” I can’t look in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No it’s not. I’m crazy, everyone knows it. It’s not okay to be crazy.” The sigh that escapes his lips tells me he’s disappointed that I would say that. But he doesn’t continue to try and change my mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Come with me. Don’t ask questions, just come.” His request seems sincere, he’s not begging me, and I like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Opening Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thomas and Maven find a place to get comfortable and talk.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He leads me down a few hallways, I can tell they’re barely used. There’s dust covering the floor, and spiderwebs hang in every corner. It gives off a haunted feel. This place is barely a year old and already it has an eerie site nobody visits. If not for Thomas, I would have chills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s dark and that’s a good thing, if someone saw us I don’t know what would happen. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I just would rather not think about it. Thomas holds my hand the entire way, like a safety precaution. He knows I won’t run again, he’s doing it to make me feel protected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hallways twist and turn until we come to a door. It’s heavily bolted, completely bulletproof. There’s a keypad, it lights up the hallway in a blue fluorescent haze. Thomas quickly types in a random set of numbers. I don’t bother to take note of them, it doesn’t matter right now. He looks back at me and smiles. “Don’t try anything, okay?” I nod. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He still thinks I purposely ran. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The door opens and a burst of cold wind rustles my hair. It’s replenishing in a certain way. I haven’t been outside in what feels like forever. There’s courtyards here but they’re small, probably twice the size of my cell, and I haven’t been given the opportunity to visit one. Nobody trusts me, they think even a bit of fresh air could inspire me to cause trouble. Or, they’re using that as a way to punish me. If that’s the case, it worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take a deep breath, feeling the air chill my bones. It feels like a drink of water after a rough workout. It somehow cures my exhaustion, temporarily. I want more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking outside, it seems like he took me to some back entrance. It leads right out to the docks. Even from here, the noise of the waves pushing against the rocky shore is perceivable. The sound would fill me with alarm if I was more alert, but after all this time, the sound is somewhat comforting. On the left are the barracks. They look more like small apartments from here, towering over the prison roof. The windows are mostly dark, but some have lights peaking through. They litter the ground, like dim spotlights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the guards?” I ask, panic rising in my stomach. Thomas just laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a plan.” He pulls a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. They jingle in his hand. “Trust me, we’ll be fine. If anyone sees us they’ll think I'm just escorting you somewhere,” He picks my hands up and shifts them behind my back. “There’s two elevators, so not many people use the stairs,” I can feel the handcuffs getting tighter on my left wrist, “so that’s where we’ll go. I don’t share a room, so you’ll be safe there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, we're going to your room?” He laughs at my disbelief, continuing his work on my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured we’d need somewhere safe to talk, somewhere private.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s not safe, there are guards everywhere in there. All of whom won't be afraid to tell the warden of this feat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, trust me.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>How can I if you’re getting me killed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“My cell’s empty, they’ll notice that. We left the door open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down Pretty Boy, I got this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pretty Boy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The nickname brings back memories, things I willed myself to forget. He didn’t use it much at the front, we were both scared someone would somehow find out about our … connection. But he did say it, along with many other things. I loved his nicknames, they made me special, less … forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He definitely does not “got this.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas leads us further away from the main building. My heart rate increases quickly, making me shake slightly. His grip on my arm tightens. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He can sense my unease</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I focus myself on taking deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You were raised better than this, pull yourself together.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice cuts through my head like a razor. I almost yelp in pain. I would if I was alone. I don’t want to cause suspicion, so I bite my lip, put on a bored face and try to control my breathing. I focus on other things. The ground is smooth, most likely sanded down before they built anything major. It feels like I’m walking on ice, minus the slippery part. We’re getting closer to the building. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank my colors nobody’s seen us. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The doors are less secure, they even have glass. I’m sure it’s bulletproof, but it’s clearer than the windows inside the prison, and it’s not barred. Everything has immense detail, like it was built for someplace else. Someplace more … lavish. Even the trimming on the door is covered in engravings. If I focus, I could make myself think I’m not here, back at Whitefire. Before my mother ruined my life. Before I helped her. Thomas swings one of the doors open and pushes me inside, he keeps his hand on the door, making sure it doesn’t slam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have security cameras-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be quiet, not in here they don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-.” He puts his hand over my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said, be quiet.” I don’t argue this time, letting him guide me to the stairs. They are secluded in a separate room. It echoes in here, I can tell from our footsteps. The ceilings are high. If I stood on the first step and leaned over the railing I could probably see all the way to the top floor. I wonder where Thomas’ room is. It has to be somewhere up there, and secluded if he thinks it’s private enough for us to be able to meet in secret. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was large. Cal put him here, he most likely made sure he was comfortable. Working on an island with little to no connection to the outside world can’t be fun. Does he ever get tired of being here? I sure do. I don't feel bad though. I’ve been here </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>longer. I don’t need to feel sorry for someone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>chose </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be in this place. Even if his decision was made because of me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stairs are made from a type of metal. They clang when you step on them. There are doors at every platform. We pass two and then two more, until finally we meet a fifth door. It’s wooden, like the rest, and it has a small 5 etched in the center front. The handle is golden, but not real gold, that would be a waste. Even if they tried to make this building something it wasn’t, they wouldn’t misuse precious resources on a doorknob, especially after the war. It shimmers as Thomas turns it, catching the light. The hallway is slim, with pale carpeting. We walk next to each other, as if I’m not a prisoner. The lighting is dim, there are no windows here. It reminds me of boarding houses, places I used to visit with my father. We come upon a room with the same engravings as the door by the stairwell. Except, this time it's a three digit number. 523. There’s a plaque there too, with a name on it. It doesn’t say Thomas, It’s a last name, and it is tinted silver, with gold edges. It reflects some type of higher ranking. Maybe he does have some status. This building is very sumptuous. It wouldn't be a shock to find that more </span>
  <em>
    <span>respected </span>
  </em>
  <span>people reside here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think too much,” Thomas snaps me out of my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You doze off into these trances sometimes. Like you’re in a whole different dimension. You’re in deep thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can't be curious?” He doesn’t answer, instead he pulls out a key. The locks are different here, less … protected. The room he opens up to is exactly how I’d guessed. It’s fairly large, but not in an overwhelming way.  The walls are painted in a dark green color. Clearly Thomas’ choice. Nobody would choose that randomly, obviously a favorite. There is nothing decorating the walls, which puzzles me. He doesn’t seem like the type of person to be bland. Maybe he hasn’t had the chance to yet. I can feel the handcuffs being undone behind me. Thomas throws them, aiming for the kitchen counter. They land with a loud clatter on the tile floor instead. He makes no effort to fix that error.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask me what you’re thinking.” He sits down on the one piece of furniture in the room, a sofa. His hand pats next to him, gesturing for me to sit, but I stay standing. I’m not yet comfortable here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you leave me.” I’m still angry about that. He left no explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mav-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You told me to ask you.” He sighs and slumps onto the back of the couch. I stay where I am, with my back straight. I don’t want to seem vulnerable. He might not answer truthfully if I do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You scared me. I came here expecting the worst from you, and it turned out I hadn't expected enough. Our conversation triggered something in me. I wasn’t ready to face you. So, I spoke with Macanthos and she gave me some time off. I needed to recollect myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You talk about me like I'm some kind of animal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know that’s not what I meant.” His gaze meets mine and I roll my eyes.. I don’t want his pity right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>lonely. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I had been used to it before, but here, there’s nothing to stop that feeling. The guards, even other prisoners, treated me horribly. They would call me names, even beat me, and there would be nobody to help me stop it. I spent six months, almost seven, locked in a cell away from everything I've ever known. Life became my own literal </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I told myself ‘you deserve it, nobody should help you.’ But that didn’t work. I tried to make things interesting. I caused other people to get in fights, then watched from the sidelines. I would taunt guards, they would hit me, but not do too much damage. I guess I just wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>something. None of it really worked though. As time passed, I became less </span>
  <em>
    <span>satisfied</span>
  </em>
  <span> with those interactions. There was a desperation inside of me, and I couldn't feed it. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I was giving up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tried to escape.” It sounds like a question but I know it’s not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cal,” He answers. I nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course that’s how he heard, your brother can’t keep his mouth shut.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Elara Merandus strikes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About two months in, I decided I had enough. I took notice of the guard’s patterns. Who smoked at what time, where they like to stand. I even had the shift times memorized. I was being taken for a meeting with a representative for the press and I ran. Adrenaline filled me, it was worse than earlier. I don't even know how many guards chased me, but I got outside. All I saw was this huge fence. It wasn’t there when I first came, it had been built around me. I felt trapped, and just stopped running, dead in my tracks. I wasn’t put in solitary, but I did meet with the warden and she had a guard stay with me wherever I went. Kind of like you, but worse. That’s when I just broke. I felt like an animal in a cage, never able to get free. I guess I let myself go.” Thomas doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with pure sorrow on his face. “Please don’t look at me like that,” I slightly turn away and focus on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You shouldn’t be afraid of me showing you some kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>compassion.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> I turn to look back up at him. I can feel tears threatening to fall for the second time tonight. I wish I could stop them. His condolence helps me a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember when we first met?” I ask abruptly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could I forget.” We both pause for a moment, clearly thinking about that day. Thomas begins to laugh. “You were so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tiny. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I remember thinking,‘how is someone so small going to help us win a war?’”  He’s not wrong. I was exceptionally small then, I still am.  “But there was something about you, something I couldn’t stop thinking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I felt the same, if not more entranced. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You couldn’t keep your hands off me either.” His comment earned a chuckle from me. The room goes silent, and I can tell we're both thinking the same thing. The same night. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The fire.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>I want to know how he survived. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know. That building burnt so fast. All I remember was being surrounded by fumes, things that I could control, but at the same time couldn't. I lost all my ability to function in that moment. I knew he was dead, he had to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you survive?” He sighs for a moment, clearly thinking of what to say. “I knew you’d ask that sometime.” I cross my arms over my chest. Maybe I should sit down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me.” Thomas continues to fidget with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here we go again. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why can’t people just tell me things? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” His answer is quick. He really doesn’t want to tell me. Did he forget?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was there too.” I look him straight in the eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, it’s just not somet-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was affected too. It wasn’t just you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not wh-” I cut him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After that night, I blamed myself for killing you. I did, it was my fault. But it hurt me worse than anything before. I think the worst part was having to put on a face, everywhere I went. I’d have to pretend I wasn’t a murderer. When I got home, I had to go through all of these balls and dinners and meetings. They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for what I had, but I was never one to </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be put in the spotlight. I didn’t like attention, especially after what happened with you” Thomas is shocked at my sudden outburst, I continue, “I was extremely depressed. I laid in bed everyday for almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> weeks. My parents didn’t give a </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn </span>
  </em>
  <span>about how I felt. When I wouldn’t show up for dinner they’d say, ‘the war was hard on him,’ and that would be it. My brother cared. He’d try and talk to me. I did tell him about you, but he didn’t completely understand. He was young, naive. We both were. I started to have panic attacks. They were in the middle of the day, my mother had already taken away my dreams, and they scared me. Most of them were about you. I’d be forced to relive the incident over and over again, except it was worse. I became desperate to forget about you. I knew my mother could help. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked </span>
  </em>
  <span>her to take you from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did what?” His voice is harsh, but somewhat concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>begged </span>
  </em>
  <span>her to help me. She refused at first, but after a while I guess she got tired of my constant nagging. She tried to do it. But failed. Once I realized that, I told her to stop, but she didn’t listen. It was like she finally got a taste of my mind and couldn’t give it up. After that, she was in my head everyday, listening for information. She’d make me spy for her. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I couldn’t tell anybody. If I even tried to make her stop she’d find some way to punish me, in my head. Most of the time she’d cause these </span>
  <em>
    <span>searing </span>
  </em>
  <span>headaches that I couldn’t stop unless I succumbed to her. Other times she’d show me you,”I point at him, to make the statement more clear. There’s nothing more to say, he can piece the rest together himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’m being honest, I don’t remember much. We were messing around, things hadn’t gone far, and all of a sudden I was immersed in this big heat. I remember stumbling backwards, trying to find my way out, but I couldn’t escape it. There was too much smoke. I fell on the floor, not being able to breathe. My instincts kicked in so I started to look for you, for a way out, but I couldn’t move. Then, someone grabbed me. They pulled me out, unconscious. To this day, I don’t know who it was. But when I woke up, I was at a Scarlet Guard base. Apparently they’d been watching us, someone knew about our relationship. I don't know how, maybe we weren't discreet enough, but they didn’t trust you. They were watching in case something like that happened. I guess I was of value to them. I spent weeks in the infirmary with untrained doctors, treating gruesome burn wounds. But I got out, and I’m fine.”  He says the last part to reassure me, it doesn’t work. We stay in silence for a few moments, taking in each other's stories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you bring me here?” I ask. My voice is drained, bare of any emotion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven, what happened in there isn’t okay. I brought you here so we could talk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to talk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I don’t want to.” My past is one thing. I don’t want him to know too much. He sighs at my comment and rubs his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you could trust me, I just want to help you.” It’s weirdly shocking to me. His facial expression suggests that he cares. “Can I ask you something?” His whole demeanor has changed, almost instantly. I nod, letting him talk. “Why were you yelling? I heard you all the way down the hall.” He’s talking about before, back at the prison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know I was yelling,” I answer him. It’s true. I thought I was talking inside my head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were loud. Extremely loud.” I don’t want to tell him anything about that moment. It’s almost too personal. He’ll judge me if I tell him the truth. I don’t want him to think I’m out of my mind. Our relationship will change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must have heard someone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maven. I know it was you. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>me.” He stands up, coming towards me. Part of me wants to flinch away, but I don’t. Thomas takes my left hand and leads me over to the sofa. We sit down at the same time, never breaking eye contact. “It’s okay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay. Nobody can hurt you here. Nobody is going to punish you for telling me how you feel.” His words are comforting and I can’t help but lean into them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m scared.” Tears are coming back, but I stop them. If i’m going to actually talk, I don’t want sobs interrupting me. Even if they’re my own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on.” His voice is soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most days I’m fine. But sometimes, I get these </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>headaches, and I hear voices.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Voices?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s two. One is my mother, the other is … I don't even know. They talk to me. They’re in my head and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen </span>
  </em>
  <span>to them.” My voice cracks at the last sentence, and the tears fall. I can’t control them. Thomas holds my hand, squeezing it slightly. “When you found me, I was talking to the other one. He was telling me to run. You’d left the door open. I was convinced I could get away, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>convinced me that. It wasn’t my intention though.” Thomas wipes tears from my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, you don’t have to cry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just … I don’t know what to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I thought I was getting better, but after solitary things just got worse. After you </span>
  <em>
    <span>left</span>
  </em>
  <span> things got worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes, “if it makes you feel any better, I never really left you. I stayed in the shadows, watching from afar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You watched me get beat up. You sat from afar and let me get </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>I fill my eyes with sad accusation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Maven. I didn’t. I was there, but I didn’t let them hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what did you do? Run away?” My voice isn’t as even as I’d like it to be. The threat that I should have isn’t there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I took you to the hospital. Don’t you remember? I thought you knew?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s who it was. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I was too occupied in not passing out that I didn’t even realize.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” I’m still crying, and the memories from those few days don’t make me feel any better. I begin to cry harder, against my will. Thomas pulls me closer to him, and we lay on the couch together. The smell of his shirt fills my senses as I continue to sob. I can feel it getting wet with my tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay here for a long time, not talking, just basking in the pure </span>
  <em>
    <span>contact </span>
  </em>
  <span>from one another. I stop crying after a while, and we both are aware he no longer needs to comfort me, but we don’t move. Sleep catches up to me and I start to drift off. The couch isn’t exactly comfortable with two people on it, but I enjoy being here with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you falling asleep?” He asks me. I mumble into his shirt, feeling the vibrations. Thomas laughs a little. Then he asks a question. “You know what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Maven.” I’m too tired to completely register what he’s saying, or come up with an alert response. The only thing I can do is mumble into his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Find Him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cal's Pov.<br/>Mare and Cal find out Maven is gone and go to help find him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is kind of a fill chapter, so it may be a little boring. I don't know, I just think it's dull. But anyways, I hope some of it is enjoyable to you!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you mean he’s gone?” I can feel Mare’s body tense next to me, her hands closing into fists. Somehow, she still holds her posh composure. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, your majesty. But that is all the information I was given. Warden Macanthos requests your presence immediately.” With a flick of my wrist I send the sentinel away, too annoyed to give a response. Sentinels know better than to just barge into bedchambers, but this is a unique situation. </p>
<p><em> Maven</em>’<em>s gone. </em></p>
<p>The sheets in our bed are mangled, most of them close to being on the floor. </p>
<p>“What do we do?” Mare pipes up next to me. She’s since laid back down, her brown hair in waves around her face. I don’t have an answer. “I told you Thomas was a traitor. He probably took him to the disputed lands. We’ll never find them.”</p>
<p>“We don’t know anything yet.”</p>
<p>“How else would he have escaped!” When she looks up at me, pure anger radiates off her. But there’s also fear. </p>
<p> “We <em> will </em> find him. It’s going to be alright.” Her chest rises, then falls. At least she’s trying to calm herself down. She’s terrified of Maven, and of what he would do if they ever met again.</p>
<p>“What if we don’t?” The anger is still apparent in her voice, but not as defined. </p>
<p>“He’s not going to hurt you, he can’t,” I say to try and quiet her emotions. “Would you like to stay here, let me handle this?”</p>
<p>“No.” Mare’s answer is sudden. She didn’t even think before.</p>
<p>“Are you sure? This doesn’t seem like something you’d feel comfortable doing.” She makes an expression of disgust, reprimanding me without even speaking.</p>
<p>“Damn you, I’m not fragile. I can do this.” Her previous incidents with him suggest otherwise, but I let it slide.</p>
<p>“Okay, let’s go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We dress quickly, I want to be out of here before anyone knows we’re gone. It’s better that way.</p>
<p> Despite Mare’s earlier detestation at my fretting, I stay by her side the entire journey. On the way to the transport, inside. Doing the best I can to make her comfortable. She needs it a whole lot more than I do.</p>
<p>Now I'm faced with only one problem. Where the hell is my brother?</p>
<p>
  <span>...ᘯ...</span>
</p>
<p>Tuck is the same as before, but the weather has cleared, so we can actually see. We make the same trip to the warden’s house. But this time we aren’t slow to the steps, we practically race to them. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a lot of information, your majestys. I didn’t want to make this a public affair.” </p>
<p>“Let’s just focus on finding them.” Mare answers. She’s mastered her expression, no longer making the pained faces like before.</p>
<p><em> Them. </em>She’s still blaming Thomas. Even if she is right, it’s naive to just point fingers. “Marlee, what exactly happened?” I ask her.</p>
<p>“We have footage from inside the building. It’s not much, and there’s no sound. But we can see them heading North.” <em> North, that’s towards the docks. </em></p>
<p>“Does anything else happen?’” Mare speaks up, questioning the warden.</p>
<p>“I'll show you myself.”</p>
<p>She brings us to another room, similar to our previous meeting spot.</p>
<p>“There’s search teams inside the main building, but everything else is available for us. We don’t think they’re outside, but it was dark, so we wouldn’t have caught anything on those cameras anyways.” </p>
<p>We sit in front of a small screen, divided into eight sections showing different footage inside the prison. Most of the rooms shown are empty, everyone’s been in their cells since this morning.  “The last we see them, Maven’s running down the hallway,” she points toward one of the sections. The camera is facing down so I can’t see his face, but I don’t need to. It’s clear what Maven’s trying to do. Another figure dashes into the frame. It’s Thomas. Maven drops to the floor, holding his head in his hands. Thomas doesn’t stop, almost running into him. He picks him up off the floor, but Maven is limp in his arms. Now, from this angle I can see Maven’s face. He’s <em> crying. </em>A few moments pass, Thomas is talking to the other prisoners. There’s no way to hear what they’re saying. He seems angry at them. </p>
<p>“Marlee, fast forward. We’re trying to see where they go,” Mare sounds frustrated. </p>
<p>“Seeing what they did before could be useful,” I add, not trying to upset her. I still manage to, though, and I’m met with a dirty glare. Marlee listens to Mare and the whole image speeds up.  Thomas starts to drag Maven down the hallway, back towards his cell but Maven puts up a fight. He falls down on the ground, letting his legs give out. They start to argue with each other.</p>
<p>“They’re probably planning where to go right now,” Mare scoffs. </p>
<p>“If they really were, they wouldn’t be bickering” Marlee joins in. On the screen, Maven takes Thomas’s hand and they disappear, out of frame, gone.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize security was that low,” She apologizes again.</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s not and we both know that. </em>
</p>
<p>This is what I get for trusting Thomas. He was closest to Maven, he was <em> assigned </em>to him for color's sake. I don’t know how we could've been so blind? He probably had this planned from the beginning. </p>
<p>“That gave us nothing,” Mare scorns loudly. She’s reminding me of a certain step-mother.</p>
<p>“No, we can see what direction they went. That’s a start.” I answer her, keeping my voice low, trying to be calm. </p>
<p>“You’re being too optimistic,” Mare scoffs again. I want to argue with her, but not here. We’ve been doing this too much lately. We get into stupid quarrels over the smallest things. I’m aware I’m being optimistic, she doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m here to find my brother, not to sit here and pout over the fact that he’s gone. </p>
<p>“Marlee, check back in with the searchers, I’m going to find Thomas.”</p>
<p>“Your majesty, Thomas is gone,” Marlee’s gentle with her words. She doesn’t want to anger me. </p>
<p>
  <em> You don’t have to do that, I’m not like my father.  </em>
</p>
<p>And his father before. They were all anger prone kings. Even Maven. I’m trying to be different.</p>
<p>“Have you looked for Thomas?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, he’s with Maven.” They both stare at me in utter confusion.</p>
<p>“Have you looked for him?” My words don't sound at all like a question. They’re harsher, more forced.</p>
<p>“No, your majesty,” She bows her head, as if I’ve reprimanded her. I feel bad, I didn't want to hurt her feelings. It’s something I'll apologize for later, we don’t have the time right now.</p>
<p>“I’m going with Marlee,” Mare tells me. I nod, waving them away. They leave in a hurry, toward the prison. </p>
<p>
  <span>...ᘯ...</span>
</p>
<p>The barracks are just the same as before. Although, they look even taller in the clear weather.  Upon closer inspection I can see that the exterior paint is chipping. <em> Great, another thing to be fixed. </em> I regret building this place on an island. Water damage is a frequent struggle. In less than three months, we were already having to close off sectors of the main building. I built too fast, <em> way </em>too fast. I guess I was just trying to make a safe place for Maven. Silvers in Archean didn’t exactly tranquil my fears of him being murdered. </p>
<p>I don’t bother making my presence known, so I take the stairs. A few guards notice me and stop whatever conversation they’re having, bowing in my direction. I nod curtly, but do nothing else. I have bigger things to worry about.</p>
<p>My knock on Thomas’ door is subtle. He probably isn’t even here. Listening, there’s no sounds coming from the inside. Mare was right. He’s gone. Him and Maven are probably miles away at this point. We’ve wasted too much time wondering where they are instead of taking action. Part of me hopes they stay gone, but I know they’ll be found. Even if they make it out of Archean, we have heavy border security. Unless, they took a boat and crossed the East ocean. I wonder what will happen to them in those countries. They could start a life, be happy. Maybe it’s a good thing they’ve escaped. I knock again, this time more forcibly. “Thomas?” I call out. Still, no answer. Mare was right. I was naive to trust him. I leave the door behind, trekking back down the carpeted hallway. There aren’t many rooms per floor, so I’ll be back at the stairs soon.</p>
<p>“Cal?” A voice rings from down the hall. I turn abruptly, staring at the face in front of me. He’s wearing sweatpants and no top, looking at me with a sleepy grin on his face. “What are you doing here?” I walk back towards him, not bothering to hide my anger. He notices this and the smile fades.</p>
<p>“Looking for you.” I reply, my voice has a growl to it. <em> Maybe I am like my father. Good. </em></p>
<p>“Well, here I am.” He acts wry, like this isn’t something serious.</p>
<p>“Yes, here you are.” My anger throws his behavior, making Thomas take a step back toward his apartment door. Like he’s <em> protecting </em>something. The look on his face could be pure fear or panic, it’s hard to tell which. “Where’s Maven?” I ask, speaking a bit louder than intended. Thomas tries to hide the guilt, but it’s written on him.</p>
<p>“Listen, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble-”<br/>“What do you mean! He’s gone because of you. <em>You </em>helped him escape!” Thomas chuckles at my accusation, the terror from before completely gone.</p>
<p>“Boy, you Calore’s sure love to blame me for things.” He’s chuckling to himself.</p>
<p>“What?” I can feel the urge to rip his head off coming out.</p>
<p>“He’s not gone. He’s sleeping on my couch.” I ball my fists next to me. </p>
<p>“He’s sleeping on your couch? Why?” Thomas sighs and opens the door wide. </p>
<p>“Come in, I’ll explain everything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I let out a breath of relief when I see Maven. Indeed, he’s fast asleep. From here, it looks as if someone else had been with him. I’m not stupid, I know it was Thomas.</p>
<p> Now, Maven has the whole thing to himself. He’s laying on his side, facing away from us. There’s a blanket draped over him, hiding the gray uniform he wears. It feels weird to watch my brother sleep. It’s something I haven’t seen in a long time. Not since we were younger.  </p>
<p>Thomas’ apartment is lacking, almost empty. So different from the sumptuous rooms I was in not even hours ago. </p>
<p>“Would you like some coffee?” He asks, motioning towards a pot on the counter. </p>
<p>“Yes, extra sugar.” Thomas nods and begins to make it. I move with him toward the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the barstools.</p>
<p>“Here,” He places the mug directly in front of me, not too far away and not too close. His days as a palace servant taught him that. I take it greedily. I didn’t really have time to wake up this morning. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” I say. Thomas just nods, taking a seat next to me. “I saw what happened in the hallway. He ran.” </p>
<p>“Yes.” Thomas doesn’t continue, waiting for me.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me what happened before then?”</p>
<p>“I heard him yelling a couple hallways down. It’s hard to hear down there from far away, but he was <em> loud. </em> He was screaming at something, begging ‘it’ to stop. I knew it was him, there was no other prisoner that would act like that. When I got there, he was curled up and hiding in the corner. He was still confused but he could see me. I was so <em> worried </em>that I forgot to close the door. One minute he was in front of me, talking to something inside his head, and the next he was gone.”</p>
<p>“He had a panic attack?” I ask, though It’s not really a question. I knew Maven had issues, but I didn’t expect them to result in that.</p>
<p>“I think so, but I can’t be sure. I’ve seen them before, on the front. That’s what it looked like. Minus the whole talking to something that isn’t there.” He explains it to me. </p>
<p>“So that’s why he ran.” I say that more to myself but Thomas nods, not bothering to ask how I know. Maven needs help. I’ve been sure of that fact for a long time and this information could be what I needed to get him that help. I only wish I had brought Julian with me. He was the one person who agreed with me, likely only for my benefit. But still, he could persuade a lot of people. He doesn’t even need to use his ability. He’s a sleek speaker, better than I’ll ever be. I glance back over at my brother, still sound asleep on the couch. </p>
<p>“I just want to know who he was talking to. Before this, I noticed him being jumpy. But it wasn’t normal. The room would be completely silent and he’d freak out, like something was after him.” The concern in Thomas’ voice is not hidden. “Other times he would drift off, unaware of his surroundings, like he was listening to someone.” I nod. </p>
<p>“It was Elara’s voice.” I tell him, “he’s been hearing her long before he came here.”</p>
<p>“You knew?” The concern is gone now.</p>
<p>“No, not exactly. Mare told me Elara haunted him. She told me about everything she witnessed while he … kept her. I was naive. I wanted to believe my brother wasn’t changed, so I pushed those facts away.”</p>
<p>“Do you think,” Thomas stops for a moment, “Do you think it’s actually her, Elara I mean. Do you think she’s actually in his head?” He questions.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure. It doesn’t make sense, not to me at least.” I know somethings wrong with Maven, but to think that it’s actually Elara? No. She’s dead, that’s a fact. “She got in his head before she died, we both know that. He could be making her up.” I answer Thomas. That has to be the only explanation.</p>
<p>“We need to get him help. Soon.”</p>
<p>“I agree.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. It's Over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maven takes a risk.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When I wake up I’m still on Thomas’ couch. The harsh fabric grates into my skin, leaving scar like indents across my arms. I trace them lightly, admiring the handiwork. There’s a few on my wrists, creating perfect circles. The image is all too familiar. </p><p>My bracelets are long gone, probably destroyed by the nymph bitch I was dumb enough to let into my kingdom. She’d see it as her last act to defy me, something to take her anger out on. Iris was prone to her fantasies, what she called gods. Vengeance was important apparently. Her and her mother’s acts to kill Volo Samos proved as such. </p><p>It’s just the way this world works, king versus king. They’d do anything to come out on top.</p><p>I should know.</p><p>The longer I lay here, the more uncomfortable I am. This couch was not made to be slept on, but by judging the area around me, I'm guessing Thomas does every night. There’s a bedroom around here somewhere. This apartment isn’t that tiny. From my place in the living room, I can see a hallway just past the kitchen. It’s dark, the carpet on the floor slowly becoming a deeper gray at the end. </p><p>Maybe he does sleep back there. He could’ve just wanted me to stay out here, to not invade his personal space. It doesn’t make much sense, but it’s the only idea I can come up with.</p><p>It’s then that I notice his voice.</p><p>My senses rush to my ears, trying to hear every last syllable he makes. “How do we get him back?” He’s talking to someone else but using a hushed tone, like he’s trying not to wake me. I don’t know who the other person is and my heart races for a few moments. Who found us? </p><p>Get me back? </p><p>“I need to tell Mare and Marlee, they’ll alert everyone else that he’s found. I’ll leave you out of it. We can just keep the security footage between the four of us, say he just wandered here or something like that. There doesn’t have to be details.” </p><p><em> Cal. Again? </em>That imbecile bonehead keeps coming back.</p><p>“We should let him sleep, it’s most likely the best he’s had in a long time.” As much as it warms my heart that Thomas cares, I know that’s not true. I sleep fine most nights. My dreams are gone, my head is empty.  He doesn’t know that though, he doesn’t need to. Cal, on the other hand, is aware. I have no doubt Mare told him every last detail of what I told her. </p><p>“He’ll probably be thrown in solitary for a day or two, it won't hurt him though.” Cal notes. </p><p>No, no, no, not again. I <em> can</em>’<em>t </em> go back there. I can’t relive that experience. Thomas knows my fear, I told him everything. He wouldn’t have just forgotten. And, <em> he </em> brought me here. I don’t care if they lie to save their own skins. But letting me face the consequences? Even <em> I </em> know that’s wrong, it’s unfair. There’s no way I’m letting that happen. </p><p>
  <em> Nobody’s going to believe you.  </em>
</p><p>Why does Mother always have to be right? That too, is unfair. I don’t want her to be correcting my ideas once they form, it’s not her job.</p><p>
  <em> She’s trying to control you. </em>
</p><p>I know <em> that </em> I’m not stupid. She always has tried to overpower me.</p><p>
  <em> No, I’m not, Maven. I’m trying to help you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No, she’s not. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yes, I am. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No. </em>
</p><p>“Stop,” I call to them, “I’m not doing this again.” I can’t let their voices control me anymore. It’s like they’re fighting for power, and it’s working. I can’t let them <em> win. </em></p><p>“Mave? Are you awake?” A shuffling sound rings through my ears. I can’t tell where it is, in my head or not.</p><p>I don’t want to attract their attention just yet, but it seems almost too late. </p><p>“Maven?”</p><p>I can’t answer the voice. I want to hear more of what they were saying. </p><p>“Go check on him,” someone commands from a few feet over. It’s Cal again.</p><p>As quick as possible, I pretend to still be sleeping. It’s a terrible tactic, something I know he’ll see right through, but it’s my only option.</p><p>A hand grips my shoulder, shaking me a bit. I lock eyes with him. Thomas. He looks down at me with an unsettling stare. I can’t speak to him. My mouth feels like it’s glued shut.</p><p>“Are you okay?” He asks the question slowly, like I can’t understand what it means. Yet, I don’t give him an answer, still staring back. He raises an eyebrow, asking me again. </p><p>“Yes.” My answer isn’t true, noticeably. Yet, neither of us comment on it. </p><p>“Come on, I’ll give you some coffee.” </p><p>My back tightens when I sit up, making me wince in pain. Ever since the healer, things have been better, but there’s still a little discomfort. I can handle it though, it’s not unbearable. </p><p>As I make my way to the small kitchen, Cal can’t seem to take his eyes off me. He stares, just <em> stares. </em> Even though his gaze isn’t alarming, and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, I hate it. I hate when he just <em> looks </em> at me. It’s one of the many things he manages to make annoying. I still walk over to him, resting my hands on the counter. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” His eyes shift when I speak, becoming almost angry. </p><p>“Are you serious?” I seem to have upset him. It wasn’t my intention, I know of way better ways to induce stress on someone. Maybe he’s had a rough day?</p><p>
  <em> Clearly, he came here after you. </em>
</p><p>“Ye-” He cuts me off before I can answer him.</p><p>“You just decided that leaving your cell was okay? You made me come all the way out here just to find you in the exact place you shouldn’t be.” My face drops into a frown. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it’s evident he isn’t happy with me right now. Thomas stops making my coffee and turns around. His eyes are also filled with irritation.</p><p>“Cal, I - I thought we handled things.” He stutters, surprised by my brother's outburst.</p><p>“We did, so now he needs to come with me.” </p><p>I find myself jumping back, putting as much distance between Cal and I as possible. I won’t be able to get away from him, he’s stronger than I am, and these past months have made that fact even more true. </p><p>Thomas sets his hands on the counter, looking between the two of us. “Cal, this is my fault, don’t make him pay for it.”</p><p>
  <em> That’s funny, earlier he was all for making you pay.  </em>
</p><p>Once again my mother is right. </p><p>I’m not going to win this fight. It doesn’t matter which person vouches for me or not. I’ll end up back in that cell, cold and all alone. Just like before. </p><p>It’s not fair, and it never will be for me. Nothing ever has been. I was born to be the one everyone overlooked, the one nobody cared about. Just like when my father would take Cal hunting, and I’d be left behind, wandering the palace all by myself. Or when they’d meet with all the advisers, telling me that I was too young yet to join in on those meetings. They just didn’t want me there, that point was clear. I had my mother, I always did, but even she couldn’t fill the void my father left. Only make it bigger, until it consumed me whole. </p><p>They bicker back and forth more, and I just watch. It’s not that interesting. Part of me wishes Thomas would just back down, if he’d stop delaying the inevitable. He doesn’t though, unsurprisingly. All I’m left to do is wait until they’re done.</p><p>
  <em> Or you could run. </em>
</p><p>It’s my mother who makes the suggestion this time. And it’s a horrible one. There’s people everywhere looking for me, I would probably only make it to the stairs before I was spotted. Thomas and Cal would also realize I was missing. Afterall, I am the person they’re arguing about.</p><p>
  <em> They won’t notice, just go.  </em>
</p><p>The more and more I think about it the dumber it sounds. </p><p>
  <em> You’re already done for, what’s the worst that could happen. </em>
</p><p>Once again that voice seems all too real, like the time in the cafeteria. Like it’s standing right behind me. </p><p>
  <em> Go. </em>
</p><p>Where would I even go? </p><p>
  <em> The water. </em>
</p><p>The water. It’s not the best of ideas, and I have no idea what I'd do when I get there, or even <em> if </em> I get there. But it’s worth a shot? The feeling of the breeze on my face from the night before seems like a high worth chasing. That was the first time I’d been outside in months. </p><p><em> Go, </em>is repeated in my ear. My feet step to the side, closer to the door. When I get into the hallway I’ll run, but not now, they’ll notice too quickly. </p><p>Thomas has since moved to the other side of the island, sitting next to Cal on a barstool. They still bicker, loudly. Occasionally his hands fly up, visualizing his words. It’s enough distraction for me. I get closer and closer to the door, pausing every few seconds to make sure they haven’t turned around. My hand touches the doorknob, it’s coldness numbing on my fingers. </p><p>They haven’t seen me yet. </p><p>I turn it slowly, thankfully, the door makes no noise when I crack it open, slipping through the side. </p><p>And then I run.</p><p>The hallway is carpeted, muffling my pounding feet the best it can. The adrenaline pumping through my system pushes me forward, a smile creeping across my face. </p><p>I did it, I actually did it.</p><p>Part of me wants to double over and throw up, but I don’t have the time to even consider it. I have to move.</p><p>The stairs echo loudly. I take them two at a time, gripping the railing to make sure I don’t fall. The last thing I need is a delay or injury of any type. When I burst through the doors I take a look around me. There’s not a single person in the corridor. They’re all in the prison, watching the other convicts. Little do they know, the one person they need to find is just around the corner. </p><p>The main doors open easily, one of them slamming into the side of the building from my push. The sound echos around the area, stopping me dead in my tracks. If someone heard I'm done for. I don’t take much time to consider the rest as I bolt behind the building, taking as much cover as possible. My breath heaves from all the exertion. I haven't had much physical activity. Before, I was exceptionally good at running, it was one of my favorite things to do in training. Now, I doubt I could even run a mile without exhausting myself.</p><p>The breeze intensifies as I get closer to the water, moving my hair in all directions. Normally, I would be as far away as I could from anything with waves this high. But today is different. Something is urging me to step closer. The depth created in my soul from being trapped indoors pushes me forward. The water is a deep blue, shining in places from the sunlight above. It splashes onto the rock, the roar covering the sound of my own breathing. </p><p>“I made it.”</p><p>The fence towers above me, surging with electricity. I couldn’t jump it without being fried, even if I wanted to. The waves splash over the edge of the island, hitting the fence directly. It sparks in response, electricity coming out in every direction, reminding me of the now queen. </p><p>“Maven!” </p><p>I knew someone would eventually find me. But I can’t seem to care. This little adventure wasn’t to upset them, or to try and escape this floating piece of garbage. </p><p>It was for me.</p><p>Something I haven’t been able to say in a long time. Throughout my life, anything I’d done was ‘for my future,’ or ‘for the crown,’ and all of that bullshit. This one time, I’ve done something for myself. And even as stupid as this is, I feel good about it. And I don’t feel sorry.</p><p>A hand grips my bicep, turning me around. A ripple of heat joins the wind in the air. It sends goosebumps down my spine.</p><p>“What the hell!” There’s only one person standing there. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes leer down at me with vehemence. “Well?” He says again, shaking me a bit.</p><p>I don’t answer him back, preferring to stay silent. There’s no way I could explain the thoughts going through my head. And Cal of all people certainly wouldn’t understand.</p><p>He drags me back, away from the splashing water, rather violently. </p><p>“This is it, Maven. I’m done.”</p><p>My voice finds me, echoing behind him. “What do you mean.”</p><p>The rather idiotic question seems to strike him further. “Are you kidding me? When are you going to learn that you don’t run things anymore?” He turns around to face me, “You are here for a <em> reason</em>. You can’t just go around doing whatever the fuck you want.”</p><p>“That’s not-”</p><p>“I don’t want to hear it. This is over.”</p><p>He tries to keep dragging me, but I pull away. “What’s over?”</p><p>I’ve seen my brother angry before, but this time is different. He’s normally careful around me, like I’m a child he doesn’t take seriously, but it seems I’ve finally pushed him over the edge. His eyes bore right into mine, his height making him look even scarier.</p><p>“You really don’t get it, do you?” </p><p>I don’t have time to respond.</p><p>“I let Thomas come here to see if he could help you. And now, after almost 7 months of peace, you’ve been worse than ever. This little thing you two have going on,” he waves his finger in front of me, “it’s over.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Getting Help</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maven learns new information, and has a talk with Mare.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am so sorry it took me this long to update. I guess I really just lost motivation. But no worries, I'm back at it again. and I will finish it.<br/>Also, this chapter solely exists because I felt that Maven and Mare needed a moment. Whether it was to argue, or slit each others throats, I didn't know. But their relationship is such a big contributor to not only this but the entire series, so i felt that it would be highway robbery if i didn't include something for them. This is in no way Mareven (or it could be depending on how you take it) so enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’m all alone. Back, staring at the ceiling of the room I will most likely spend the rest of my life in. </p>
<p>I’ve laid here all day, gripping my blanket tightly to cover my face. It provides the least bit of comfort, but I can hide from the world, from the reality of what has happened. Cal left me here, and since then I’ve seen no one, not even Thomas. I would have at least thought he’d come to say goodbye. </p>
<p>But he didn’t. And we’re done.</p>
<p>Part of me wants to believe that Cal was bluffing, that he’s not actually going to send Thomas away. But the way he reacted, the pure <em> anger </em>radiating off his skin, proves me otherwise.</p>
<p>
  <em> Just like your father. </em>
</p>
<p>The man who didn’t know me. The hot-headed, angry, quick to judge, unfavorable father I pretended cared for me. He cared for no one. </p>
<p>
  <em> Except Cal. </em>
</p>
<p>Except Cal. That is true. He was always too forgiving of his favorite son. The son that overshadowed me so much. The son who is still ruining my life today.</p>
<p>
  <em> He never loved you. </em>
</p>
<p>Part of me wants to believe that. There were times when he’d treat me like Cal, not as good, but they were there. I just can’t remember most of them. The love is gone. There’s a chance he did love me, I just couldn’t love him back.</p>
<p>I want to pass out, leave this world behind for a few hours of darkness. </p>
<p>
  <em> You really are finished.       </em>
</p>
<p>That notion is completely my own. I don’t need my mother, or the other voice, whoever they may be, to tell me how bad I messed up.</p>
<p>My heart is aching. It’s like someone reached inside me, and ripped out any happiness I managed to find. </p>
<p>Thomas made me happy. </p>
<p>And now I’ll never see him again.</p>
<p>He was the one thing that made me feel okay, the one person I knew I could somewhat trust. He told me he loved me. And all that’s gone to shit. </p>
<p>My eyes start to burn and I realize I’m crying. The tears fall right on my pillow, soaking the left side of my face. I’m thankful it’s dark and no one can see the shell of a person laying here. A mess. An absolute mess. </p>
<p>
  <em> My one true love is gone. </em>
</p>
<p>That’s the last thought I have as I cry myself to sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                                                                                                                                         </p>
<p>I’m being watched. </p>
<p>It was the first thing I felt when I awoke. There’s someone on the other side of my cell, just standing there, and it’s not a guard. </p>
<p>I know my brother’s presence. He can be completely obvious at times, but today is different. I can just tell he’s on edge. And for what reason I don’t know.</p>
<p>He stands completely rigid, feet together, breathing ever so slightly. I’m not sure if he knows I'm awake, and I give no inclination to tell him so. </p>
<p>I just lay here, staring up at the ceiling. </p>
<p>“I know you’re up.” He finally says, taking a step closer to the glass.</p>
<p>
  <em> Well then. </em>
</p>
<p>I don’t even look in his direction, “good for you, I guess.” </p>
<p>Cal seems to already know I'm upset. “Maven, I did what I had to do, for your sake.”</p>
<p>His words remind me of an all too familiar whisper queen. Except with him, I’m not afraid to talk back.</p>
<p>“How is taking away Thomas helping me?” I sit up abruptly, the blanket falling off my torso. My voice wavers, all the emotion coming back. He never will understand, he never does. </p>
<p>My mother repeats her words from long ago, <em> Cal is selfish. </em> And she’s right. All he cares about is himself. He doesn’t like dealing with my issues, that’s why he took Thomas. He was a reminder that I still existed. He let me still have some type of life. That was too much for the king. </p>
<p>“Maven, I know you don’t understand, but I’m not doing it to hurt you.”</p>
<p>“I don't understand?” My voice gets louder with each word. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, standing up to face him. “Why wouldn’t I understand?”</p>
<p>“Maven, stop.”</p>
<p>“No, Cal, tell me. Why don’t I understand.” I want to strangle him, to ruin that perfect expression on his face. But I can’t. And it’s his fault. </p>
<p>“Stop. Now.” He doesn’t like it when I yell at him. </p>
<p>The stupid oaf thinks he can just boss me around, like I’m dumb enough to listen. </p>
<p>“You ruin everything!” There’s tears threatening to fall down my face, but I don’t let them. “You’ve <em> ruined </em>everything!”</p>
<p>There’s a deafening silence between us. The unbearable type. The kind that makes your stomach drop. It’s an evil presence in the room.</p>
<p>“I’ve made new arrangements,” his voice trembles like he’s afraid to tell me, “you’ll be leaving later today, so …” His eyes trace my cell, voice slowly fading out.</p>
<p>“What?” I ask hastily, the shock evident on my face. </p>
<p>“Just be ready to go.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, I have nothing to pack.” </p>
<p>Cal stands completely still for a second. Our eyes are locked in a competitive stare.</p>
<p>“Where am I going?” My facial expression doesn’t change except for the slight quirk of an eyebrow. </p>
<p>“Maven, I’ll tell you later ju-”</p>
<p> “Where am I going?” My voice doesn’t sound as commanding as I wish it had, there’s some fear laced in between. </p>
<p>Cal looks around, like someone might hear him.</p>
<p>
  <em> What the hell is up with him? </em>
</p>
<p>“You need help, Mavey.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p>
<p>That’s the last thing I expected to hear, especially after the events of yesterday. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”</p>
<p>“It means you’re <em> getting </em>help.”</p>
<p>   I have no response to give back. </p>
<p>
  <span>...ᘯ...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The headache pounds into my skull, and the lights above my head provide just enough illumination to make it even worse. Why is it so bright in here? I’m sure if I made enough noise Cal would be alerted and he would come back, maybe do something for me. But I don’t think sound is going to make this any better. Besides, I’ve dealt with things like this before, I can handle it. </p>
<p>
  <em> Before, you could help yourself, now that’s not an option.  </em>
</p>
<p>The voice that’s not my mothers doubts me. </p>
<p>It’s not wrong, though. I would give anything to have silent stone right now. It wouldn’t completely minimize the pain, or even do much, but it helped a little. And that little was enough. </p>
<p>
  <em> If you're in so much pain, get Cal. </em>
</p>
<p>I’m not even going to try to get him to come here. I don’t want to talk to anybody. If I just keep my head buried in my pillow, everything will be okay.</p>
<p>
  <em> Will it be okay? </em>
</p>
<p>My answer is voiced. “I’m fine, I always am.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?”</p>
<p>My eyes would have grown wide if they weren't shoved into a mattress. I can recognize the voice though. That red rat couldn’t stay away for long. Slowly I lift my head, turning to face her. My eyes squint in the light. </p>
<p>“Like I said, fine.” I can’t see if she believes me or not. </p>
<p>“Your choice.” I audibly sigh and sit myself up on the bed, criss crossing my legs in an innocent manner. My headache doesn’t seem to agree with my choices, and it throbs in anger. </p>
<p>Mare stands a few feet away from the bars, like she doesn’t trust them. </p>
<p>“I can’t hurt you,” I say, motioning toward the barrier between us, “even if I wanted to.” She doesn’t respond to me, still keeping her distance. Her hair has changed. It used to be one of my favorite colors, purple. I liked the way it accentuated her jawline. The short cut had looked good. Now, it’s back to the bland brown, pulled neatly into a bun at the nape of her neck.</p>
<p><em> She’s a queen now, that wouldn </em> ’ <em> t be suitable. </em>Mother knows best.</p>
<p>Her clothes are also different. Nothing like my mother, or any other queen would wear, but different. She wears something like I would have owned, weird as that may be. A black tunic with matching pants, blue and purple embroidery decor appearing on the sides. I actually like it. It’s no surprise she would prefer that over the lavish gowns of court. They were so unlike her.</p>
<p>The brand is covered, unlike before, at the meeting that was supposed to lead to my victory. She could have gotten it removed but I doubt it. Her and Cal share the same idea of ‘I want my scars to remind me of who I used to be’ crap. </p>
<p>I find myself suddenly aware of how different we look. My gray uniform compared to hers. It’s a clear symbol of how different we are now. My jumpsuit looks meager next to her lavish clothing. How times have changed and the tables have turned. I have no doubt in my mind she’s thinking of her imprisonment. How I chained her up and held her hostage for almost seven months. It was monstrous, I know that now, and Mare’s most likely traumatized. So how is she standing in front of me?</p>
<p>“Is there a reason you’re here, or are you just going to stare at me?” Her eyes shift at my question. She has all the power here, but seems to not even realize it. She can walk away, have her last word. This conversation will definitely be <em>interesting</em>.</p>
<p>“You look horrible,” she points out the obvious.</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>We stand there for a few moments, no one knowing when to speak. It’s a daunting silence. I can’t say I’m not afraid of what she can do.</p>
<p>Her voice comes out croaked, like she hasn’t spoken in a long time. “I wanted to see you,” she holds her hands in front of her, knuckles turning white, “they told me you’d be asleep.”</p>
<p>“Clearly they were wrong.”</p>
<p>“Yes, indeed they were.” <em> God, </em>she even speaks like a queen. “I wasn’t expecting a conversation. I just wanted to actually see you.”</p>
<p>“I’m not an animal and this is not a zoo, please make your viewing quick.” Mare just scoffs. </p>
<p>“Is it that wrong?” She takes a step closer to the bars, “Is it?” She’s tempting me to answer her, but I won't reward the satisfaction so easily.</p>
<p>“Well here I am. Anything else?” I’m purposely being rude, Mare doesn’t need to be here. I don’t <em> want </em> her here. My hands flail out in question when she doesn’t answer. I can see the amusement in her eyes. She’s <em> enjoying </em>this. Slowly I stand, it’s almost a prowling movement, like I'm trying to intimidate her. It has a bigger effect than I thought, her unease becoming more apparent. </p>
<p>“Go.” My voice is firm, unmoving, But it has no real authority in it. That was lost when I came to this horrid island.</p>
<p>Her answer is one worded, simple and full of the control I no longer have. “No.” She enrages me further, my hands forming into fists. “Calm down, there’s no need to be violent.” </p>
<p>I hate this, I hate <em> her. </em>“This is not me being violent, you should know that.”</p>
<p>“I also know that I never really saw the real you, who you were behind the mask your mother molded for you.”</p>
<p>She’s taking things too far. And she knows that. It’s like the only reason she’s here is to add another scene to the drama of her life. “Please, leave.”</p>
<p>“No, I’m here for a reason.”</p>
<p>“And what is that, Mare?” I can see the gears turning in her mind, she’s keeping something from me.</p>
<p> “Your brother thinks you’ve changed. He wants to transfer you to somewhere in the Disputed Lands. He thinks that some <em> doctors,” </em> she says the word like it’s poison, “can help you. He thinks that you can make <em> progress </em>and become better. He’s looking for treatment, Maven. They somehow believe that you're able to do that.”</p>
<p>I know I need help, but that doesn’t mean I want it. I don’t want people poking and prodding inside my head. I don’t want my mother all over again. But I could be free. I could ‘get better’ if that’s even possible.</p>
<p>“Would that be so bad?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want my torturer running around free!” The lights flicker with her rage. In my cell, I step back so mine doesn’t fall on me.</p>
<p>“You think it’ll work?” She does, I know she does. That’s the only reason she would be so upset. Maybe these ‘doctors’ can fix me. They could make me not hear her anymore.</p>
<p>“No Maven, I don’t think it’ll work,” <em> no</em>, “I think you’ll get worse and Cal will try to keep a psychopath in our home.”</p>
<p>I’m taken aback by her comment. That was a low blow, something I would never have expected from her. Mare smiles at my loss of words. She’s definitely changed, more than I even thought capable. </p>
<p>“Maven, don’t look so surprised.”</p>
<p>“Mare-” she cuts me off.</p>
<p>“I have to go. But you’ll see me again soon.” And with that she leaves, down the hallway. I can hear her heeled boots click on the floor for what seems like forever after she disappears.</p>
<p>
  <em> What a bitch. </em>
</p>
<p>“Trust me, I know.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The New Place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cal and Mare take Maven to the hospital</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been so long! I honestly don't know why it took me this long to update lol, but I'm back and here's a new chapter. I hope you enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They lead me out in steel handcuffs fastened way too tight, the rings digging into my skin.</p>
<p>Part of me expected Cal to be the one to bring me here. Earlier he sounded so involved, like he actually cared. Maybe I’m just desperate. Desperate for his attention, that is. I don’t know why I suddenly want him around all the time, especially after what he did with Thomas. What he took from me. It’s pathetic to not even try and fight back. </p>
<p>The voice in my head repeats words from long ago. <em> You’re not pathetic. </em></p>
<p>I believed that too. But now, after all that’s happened, after all that I’ve lost, it’s hardly true. Even before I lost the war, before I let my mother ruin my life, I was pathetic. I always have been and I always will be. There’s nothing that can solve that. My mother thought she could. She thought she could somehow change the outcome of the person I was meant to be.</p>
<p>Did she?</p>
<p>I want to answer ‘no,’ to somehow believe that her meddling didn’t contribute to the way my mind works, and to the way these thoughts are forming right now. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe all she caused were the actions, the events that led to my downfall. I could accept that. If what’s happening right now is true, I’m going to have to learn to accept a lot of things.</p>
<p>I never considered what it would be like to have a therapist. Perhaps they are like whispers. They will get in my head, make me feel things that aren't true. They will try and change the way I think, the way my brain functions on a daily basis. I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Or even if it’s going to do anything.</p>
<p>Do I even think this will work?</p>
<p>I’m sure Cal has some hope, or this wouldn’t be happening at all. I know Mare does, too. She was so upset earlier. She's scared of the <em> idea </em>that I could possibly become sane.</p>
<p>
  <em> Is that so irrational? </em>
</p>
<p>If I’m being completely honest, I have no idea what sane even is. Maybe there was one point in my life when I could be defined as that. However small the window of time. </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Once we get to the main entrance, I see that Cal is standing there, waiting for me. I want to be happy to see him, but for some reason, I find myself trying to avoid his gaze. There’s something about the way he stares that’s unsettling. Like he’s looking straight through me.</p>
<p>“You can leave us now,” he says, addressing the guards. They look around, reluctant if they actually should go. I roll my eyes. They can’t possibly think I’m <em> that </em>dangerous. </p>
<p>But, one by one they break off, heading back inside the depths of the building. </p>
<p>Immediately, after we’re alone, my brother turns to me. </p>
<p>“Are you ready?”</p>
<p>I scoff a bit, amused by his foolish question. “Do I look ready?” </p>
<p>He doesn’t seem as entertained by mine, and chooses to ignore it, walking us into the jet. </p>
<p>It reminds me way too much of my time as king, even before then. It’s almost the same issue as the ones I flew around in, down to the floorboards. Every divot, rift, and crack looks exactly the same, sending me into a fit of nostalgia. It floods my mind with things I wish I could forget.</p>
<p>Taking a seat, I allow myself to rest my head on my hands, breathing heavily as I do so. If only I was smarter then, if only I used better tactics. Maybe I could’ve won. </p>
<p><em> But you didn </em> ’ <em> t, and there </em> ’ <em> s nothing to do about it now. </em></p>
<p>For once her advice doesn’t make me hate her. </p>
<p>Even without looking up, I can feel Cal’s eyes. He stands next to the door, staring down at me in confusion. I can tell he doesn’t know what to say, if he did he would’ve by now. </p>
<p>“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound convincing. </p>
<p>“You don’t look fine.” His answer was imminent, rushed, and yet he sounded so relaxed. Still, I can’t help that I found it rude. Lifting my head, I focus my gaze on him. </p>
<p>“You know, there’s other things you could say to make a person feel better.” Cal looks away. Good, it’s reassuring to know that I can still be intimidating.</p>
<p>
  <em> He has no reason to be intimidated by you, Maven. You’re wearing handcuffs for color's sake.  </em>
</p>
<p>Well, at least I made him feel something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...ᘯ... </p>
<p> </p>
<p>We sit in an uncomfortable silence through most of the flight. Mare joined us right before we left, looking like she had every intention of being <em> elsewhere.  </em></p>
<p>From time to time, Cal makes his way up to the cockpit, and she trails right behind him, like she can’t stand to be alone with me. I can’t say it’s surprising.</p>
<p>But, for the most part, Cal and Mare stay seated, right in front of me. Mare ignores my presence, focusing on the clouds that surround us. However, Cal talks to me. It’s annoying, ear-piercing small talk, and even though I wish he would just shut up, I'm grateful for something.</p>
<p>...ᘯ...</p>
<p>When the jet lands Cal and Mare get out first, closing the door tightly behind them. They seem to have some sort of unspoken plan, or at least something I don’t know about. </p>
<p>With the lack of guards, I take the liberty of undoing my seat belt. There’s no need for it now, and I’m certain it was about to come off anyways.  Once it’s out of the way, I stand, stretching my back out. That wasn’t the most comfortable flight of my life. Sitting upright for two hours was never destined to be. </p>
<p>I’m bending down, trying to reach my toes, when the door opens again. Cal walks in first, clearly not expecting me to be standing, or even unbuckled. I stare at him, straightfaced, while he questions what I’m doing. </p>
<p>Two more people enter the jet, also not expecting to see me upright. They’re dressed in matching sets of maroon scrubs, an emblem of a cross on the breast pocket. Part of me wants to be afraid. Both of them are undoubtedly strong, judging by their large frames. But they look somewhat nice. One of them offers me a smile when I meet her eyes. So unlike the prison guards. </p>
<p>
  <em> They could be prison guards. Step out of line, see what happens.  </em>
</p>
<p>That’s the last thing I wanted to hear.</p>
<p>Cal notices the shift in my facial expression. </p>
<p>“Mavey.” He speaks to me like a child, “they’re just here to escort us into the building, that’s all.”</p>
<p>He thinks I'm afraid. He’s wrong, but I’m not going to correct him. “Who are they?” I ask, trying to sound somewhat startled. Though, my voice only comes off empty.</p>
<p>The girl closest to the door speaks up, almost interrupting Cal. “Hi, Maven.” She says thankfully ignoring Cal’s use of my nickname. “I’m Arya,” she points to herself, “and this is Orion.” I look over at the man. He’s a few years into his 40’s, maybe a little older, I can’t tell much by the broadened smile on his face. </p>
<p>After a moment, Arya continues. “We work here as orderlies. We’re the people that take care of you.”</p>
<p>I can’t help the fact that I look unamused. <em> ‘Take care of you.’ </em>She talks to me the same way Cal does, like I'm five and can’t understand a word she’s saying. </p>
<p>I want to hate her, I want to so badly. </p>
<p>I don’t give Arya anything back, deciding to stay silent. Though they still stare, expecting me to say something. </p>
<p>Cal breaks the silence. “I think we should go in now.”</p>
<p>To my surprise, they don’t grab me and try to force me into the building, unlike what I was used to before. They just let me walk on my own, following their path. I thought Cal would be smart enough to know that I could potentially escape. There’s only three of them, and I am a fast runner. But they don’t. </p>
<p>Mare is standing outside the dropjet, and when we all step out, she goes right back in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...ᘯ...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first thing I notice are the walls. They are extremely white, a stark contrast to the  dark transport. The trim that lines them is a light blue, and it fades around the bottom. Clearly needed a touch up.</p>
<p>I hate it here.</p>
<p>The entryway is wide and open, with huge windows showcasing the outside. There’s a long desk snaking around the back of the room with at least ten people behind it. Some are moving around, opening what looks like files, and others are staring in front of tiny screens. None of them are paying any attention to us.</p>
<p>
  <em> How unusual. </em>
</p>
<p>The rest of the room is filled with single chairs, placed in an array to create walkways throughout the area. </p>
<p>I also notice the scent. It’s different from anything I’ve ever smelt before, and it stings my nostrils. </p>
<p>Seeking some sort of comfort, I turn to look for Cal, only to realize that he’s gone. And I'm faced with the fact that I’ve been left, alone, with one of the orderlies. Orion. </p>
<p>I try my best to ignore his presence, just like the prison guards, but he’s different. Somewhat overbearing. I’m not surprised when he starts talking to me.</p>
<p>“You can sit down if you’d like.”</p>
<p>I look around the room, per his suggestion, and notice that Cal is over at the desk talking to a girl behind it. Part of me wants to go to him.</p>
<p>“He’ll be just a minute, why don’t you have a seat right here.” Orion points to the chair next to him, tilting his head in that direction. I can’t find the will to say anything to him, a surge of shyness overcoming me. And I want to laugh at how determined he is to make me sit down. Maybe it’ll be relaxing. Humoring the man, I take a seat, but still watching Cal. I feel like a child. One who doesn’t want their parents to leave them alone, which is a weird feeling. Cal is my brother. Yes, I did admire him in the past, but never in a paternal type of way.</p>
<p>
  <em> He has been looking out for you lately.  </em>
</p>
<p>Finally, some helpful comments. </p>
<p>That is true, ever since Thomas came back Cal has been closer. He blames it on all of the “trouble” I’ve caused. </p>
<p>
  <em> He also blames all of that trouble on Thomas, the reason he’s not with you. </em>
</p>
<p>That is true. And even though I do trust Cal, this whole thing would be easier if I had Thomas with me. </p>
<p>“Maven.” Cal’s voice drags me from my thoughts. The other orderlie from before, Arya, has joined us, now holding a few items of clothing in her hand. “I’ve checked you in, now they have to process you.”</p>
<p>“Process me?” I can’t hide the fear that creeps into my system. Orion notices it, and quickly gives me some reassuring words.</p>
<p>“We just have to do a few mandatory processes before you can be admitted.” I glance up at Cal and he nods, telling me he’s not lying.</p>
<p>“Now, before you go inside, say you’re goodbyes.”</p>
<p>Before I can even process the fact that I’ll be alone, Cal comes up to me. And for the first time in a long time, he gives me a hug.</p>
<p>“You’re going to be okay. And I’ll come visit you every week. I promise.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Goodbye, Mavey”</p>
<p>“Bye, Cal.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay so i am completely aware I told you all i was back and then didn't update for a whole month. That is my bad and I am sorry. But, it is with pride I present to you the last chapter of this ... story???<br/>I took way to long on this, but it was all because i wanted it to be perfect. It's not but it'll have to do.<br/>I would love to give a thanks to all the people who have read this and an even bigger thanks to the ones who commented and told me they liked this story as much as i do. It really propelled me forward and gave me a reason to finish this.<br/>Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Apparently he’s been asking to see me, and surprisingly, Cal has agreed. </p><p>I was shocked at first, due to the fact that after everything had taken place I was fundamentally written off. Cal had insisted I leave Tuck, convincing me that I didn’t have a future there. He wasn’t wrong. The sole reason I had come in the first place was gone, thousands of miles away from me, and probably never to be seen again. And besides, Tuck would never be a suitable place for someone like me. I needed a safe haven, a <em> home.  </em></p><p>So, only two days after Maven’s departure, I left.</p><p>Navigating life alone again was easier than I thought it would be. Cal had offered me my old job back, to serve him in the palace kitchens. Which, I gladly refused. I wanted to get away, to find solitude in a place I could call my own, with no trace of <em> any </em> Calore brother. </p><p> </p><p>I found a house. Small, extremely destroyed by the war, and ridden with creatures of every type. But it was something for me to fix. And I found the vast land around it oddly familiar. It brought back memories of home, of my mother and sister. They would’ve loved the fields, and the way the birds chirp in the morning. Appreciating the smallest of things is something I’d learned growing up, this place was the perfect illustration of that. Familiar. </p><p>Out in the country, I found a part of myself that had been gone for a long time. A person who had been dead, butchered in the war. It was good to have him back, a memory recovered. He filled the space inside me that had been lost. But, this new presence, this new <em> me, </em>only reminded me more of Maven. The part of me that came back was the person who had first met him. </p><p>Things would be different, and I just had to accept that.</p><p> </p><p>…ᘯ…</p><p> </p><p>Nobody had expected Maven to improve. When he had first been admitted, it was painfully clear there was no erasing all of the trauma he’d endured in the past, not without extreme amounts of help.  And, even worse, he didn’t seem to <em> want </em>any of that help. His state, both physically and mentally, had become worse than what they were when he was in prison. </p><p>There were many brain scans done, in hopes to explore the extent of damage Elara had caused. All having an array of results. But each one had a constant. </p><p>Schizophrenia is what they called it, claiming the side effects of his torture mirrored the symptoms. Hallucinations, disorganized behavior, delusions. Even the back pain he’d been complaining about was caused by his brain. Everything came together. </p><p>It was satisfying having finally figured out what to call his illness, like putting a name to a face, but that didn’t mean everything was over. The doctors still had to figure out how to treat this so-called schizophrenia. They gave him certain medications, things that cleared up most of the issues. But the disease was still present, and to modern knowledge untreatable. It was outright assumed Maven would never leave that hospital. </p><p>After a few weeks, and a lot of negotiation from Cal, Maven finally started to try. It was baby-steps at first. Him agreeing to take the medication, and <em> reluctantly </em>opening up to his therapist. Maven was undeniably terrified of the environment he had been thrust into, apparently his behavior was expected.</p><p>That’s when he started asking about me. </p><p>Cal had let me know, but made no intention of actually fulfilling the request. I can’t say I was surprised. He didn’t like the way things turned out on Tuck. Both Maven’s and my actions were uncalled for, and reckless to say the least. I don’t blame him for trying to keep things stable. </p><p>But Maven kept asking, and was never satisfied with the excuses Cal gave. </p><p>
  <em> “He misses you. ‘Keeps asking when you’ll go and see him.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I figured that would happen.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He just needs time.” </em>
</p><p>Both the therapist and Cal agreed that Maven’s mental health was too fragile to be fumbling with romance and whatnot, so did I. </p><p>Yet, I was unsettled by the decision. </p><p>I missed him terribly. I saw him in everything I did, even in my dreams. The worst thing was, I had lost him again. And, now that it was clear he missed me too, I couldn’t even go to see him. I wanted to push those feelings away, to convince myself that what I was doing would help him. But I knew it wasn’t, and so did Cal. </p><p>So, nearly a month later, I find myself sitting in one of the palace’s many dropjets, on my way to the hospital. </p><p> </p><p>…ᘯ…</p><p>Cal waits for me outside, standing rather uncomfortably in the entrance. He watches the jet land with forced interest, clearly having a lot on his mind. </p><p>When I step out he greets me immediately, wasting no time on formalities.</p><p>“He doesn’t know you’re here, and I’m trying to keep it that way, so let’s hurry.”</p><p><em> He. Maven. </em> Before I can respond, he’s leading me into the main building. We go down a few hallways, all of them looking the exact same. Cal doesn’t talk to me the entire way, more focused on our destination than the conversation <em> he </em>started.</p><p>When we stop in front of a door he finally speaks again, this time calmer. </p><p>“We’ll wait in here, the nurses have to go and get him.”</p><p>“Already? I thought you’d want to brief me on things. We haven’t seen each other in months, Cal.”</p><p>He motions me into the room while responding. “I was just about too.”</p><p>Inside, there’s plenty of places to sit. Chairs, couches, even window seats. It holds an almost luxurious presence. If I hadn’t already known, I wouldn’t think this was a hospital. </p><p>The furthest end of the room is the eye catcher of it all. The wall itself is entirely glass, showcasing the forest outside. It’s clearly something to make the patients feel better, but the idea of seeing a place you cannot go seems almost depressing. </p><p>“Just so you know, Maven’s therapist doesn’t agree with any of this.”</p><p>“I’m aware.” I state almost rudely. Part of me doesn’t like this therapist. Not one bit. </p><p>Cal stares at me for a moment before continuing. “You and I both know he needs this. Even if it’s just for a few hours. It could help him a lot.”</p><p>“When is he coming.” My patience is wearing thin, and the urge to see him in front of me is consuming. Yet, my stomach is filled with nerves.</p><p>“Soon.” Cal pauses for a few moments, staring behind me. “He’ll be different. He <em> is </em>different.”</p><p>“How.”</p><p>“Well, he doesn’t talk to himself anymore. He stopped hearing… <em> her.” </em></p><p>
  <em> Elara. </em>
</p><p>“And he stopped shaking all the time.”</p><p>That‘s a relief. Especially because that’s all he ever seemed to do. “What about his panic attacks?”</p><p>“They come and go. He doesn’t dream, so anything that scares him he sees during the day, which almost always causes him to freak out. The medication helps a little, but it doesn’t always work.”</p><p>“Is there anything else the doctors can do, besides give him drugs.”</p><p>“He can talk it out. That helps him get it out of his head. But he hasn’t started opening up until recently.”</p><p>The details were both good and bad, but I couldn’t be bothered to dwell on them. It was exciting to finally be included in the particulars of Maven’s treatment. For too long I had to wonder, to dream about what things were like over here. Now I know.</p><p>After a few moments, the sound of a knock filled the room. Both Cal and I turned, startled by the interruption.</p><p>“Come in.” Cal’s voice rang out. It was cold and unfamiliar, nothing like the way he had just been speaking. The door slowly creaked open, revealing a timid nurse. Clearly she’s never been in Cal’s presence before, her expression said that much.</p><p>“Your Majesty, Doctor Evans is on her way.”</p><p>He nods and she leaves, the door almost slamming behind her. </p><p>“You’d think they’d be used to you by now,” I note, laughing a bit.</p><p>Cal chuckles, taking a seat by the windows. “That I would be.”</p><p>I move to sit with him. The couches are small, and a sickly teal color, not to mention uncomfortable. </p><p>Almost as soon as I sit down, the highly anticipated doctor enters the room. She takes no time introducing herself, assuming I already know her name. </p><p>She definitely knows mine. </p><p>The door widens behind her and I see him.</p><p>Immediately he meets my eyes, and I see his chest lift up, taking a breath. The first thing I notice is his clothing. It’s nothing like before. Now, he sports something a bit more casual than the prison jumpsuits, something more comfortable. His hair is kept, neater than the last time I saw him. </p><p>He’s being treated better, taken care of. That alone makes my heart leap.</p><p>There are two nurses behind him, both eyeing me warily, but keeping their distance as Maven moves forward. </p><p>This feels like a scene in a film. But, he should be running up to me with a smile on his face, not nervously looking around at the other people in the room. It’s now when I realize I’m still sitting. Slowly I stand, making my way over to him. Maven’s not looking at me though, he’s staring directly at Cal. There’s this sort of unspoken understanding between them, and I can feel his mood shift.</p><p>Cal stands up behind me, patting my shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. “Let’s give them some space.” The nurses and the doctor start to protest but he gives no room for it, uttering a stern ‘now’ in their direction. </p><p> </p><p>When they're all gone, and the door is closed, I see his shoulders drop. We both stare at each other expectantly, not knowing what to do. I haven’t seen him in months, but it feels like years. </p><p>“Do you wan-”</p><p>“He told me you didn’t want to see me.” Maven blurts, cutting me off. When I don’t respond he speaks again. “Cal, I mean. He said you didn’t want to see me.”</p><p>“Mave.’”</p><p>“It’s okay, you have a life. I was fine, but … I missed you. You know? I was here, all alone, and I thought that you might have come to see me. Or maybe a call. But you didn’t.” He looks completely hurt, and there’s tears in his eyes, but all I can feel is a hate towards Cal. He lied. He lied to his own brother. </p><p>“Maven, I didn’t say that. I never came to see you, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t.” His facial expression changes, forming into one that I can’t read, and for once I curse his ability to hide emotions. “Cal, and whoever your therapist is, told me it wasn’t a good idea.” Briefly, it crosses my mind that I shouldn’t be telling him this, but I can’t find it in me to care. “I spent the last six months alone, all I could think about was <em> you.” </em></p><p>“You’re here now,” He says, and it seems like he’s saying it to himself. Like a little reminder. </p><p>“I’m here now.”</p><p>Like the movie moment I was wishing for earlier, he moves across the room, arms outstretched for the hug I’ve waited for forever. </p><p>“I missed you so much,” he whispers into my shoulder. I can tell by the pitch in his voice that he’s crying. It makes me want to cry, too.</p><p>Slowly, we maneuver over to the couch I was sitting at earlier. He doesn’t let go of me, only loosening the hug to sit.</p><p>“So,” I put a smile on my face, pulling us out of the hug, “how have you been?” Maven laughs slightly, wiping the tears out of his eyes.</p><p>“You know how I’ve been. I’m sure you’ve heard everything from Cal. Tell me how <em> you’ve </em>been.”</p><p>I shake my head, laughing at his antics. “How much time do we have?”</p><p>“Not enough.”</p><p>Slowly at first, I start to tell him about the farm. I tell him everything. About the trees in the front yard and how the leaves fall off when it gets cold, about the cracks in the fireplace that let ants in when food is left out, about how the third stair creaks when you walk on it, and everything in between. He watches me with wide eyes as I tell him about the fields out back, and the puddles that form when it rains. Though, as much as he loves the story, I can see in his eyes how it makes him sad. The same eyes that held no emotion before, start to diminish, and even though there is a smile on his face I can see he’s feeling depressed. </p><p>“I wish I could go there.” His voice is full of longing.</p><p>“Maybe you can one day.”</p><p>“No.” he answers almost immediately. “Cal will never let me out of here. And even if he wanted to, the doctors would never agree.” </p><p>There’s silence between us. I know he’s right. And so does he. There may never be a day where he sees the outside world again. It’s a sad truth, but a truth nonetheless. </p><p>“I just don’t want you to wait for me.”</p><p>It takes me a second to process his words. “What?”<br/>
“If I never leave here, I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone. Don’t live off the hope that one day we’ll be together.”</p><p>“There’s no one else I can be with.”</p><p>“Find someone else, I’m begging you.”</p><p>“I can’t, Maven, and I won’t.” He stares at me, glaring with an anger I've never seen. Clearly, he’s trying to help me. He thinks I would be better off not worrying about him. But he’s wrong. </p><p>“Mave,’” I glare back at him, albeit with less ferocity, “There will never be a day where I don’t long for the moment we can be together, evermore. So, until that day comes, I will be here, every week, with you.”</p><p>“They won-”</p><p>“I don’t care what <em> they </em>have to say. I love you, Maven. Nobody, not your brother, not Mare and not even these four walls can change that. You hear me? I love you.”</p><p>“I love you, too.”</p><p>For the first time since the night on my couch, in that bland apartment on Tuck, we kiss. It feels like absolute ecstasy, a heroin I didn’t know I was addicted to. Even though it is structurally not a good idea to have a full blown make-out session in a psychiatric hospital, we do it anyways. It’s been too long of a wait for his lips to be on my own, and now that I have it I know it will be hard to let go. </p><p> </p><p>I came here thinking we’d have a long conversation to end this journey, something to wrap up a beautiful time in our lives, but I left with something much different.</p><p>“Please,” Maven states as I make my way to the door, “you have to find someone else.”</p><p>“Maven,” he anticipates my next words, “we will always find each other.”</p><p>A promise.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it! Have a wonderful rest of your day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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